


The Feral Spider

by AndreaDTX



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: ABO Dynamics in Platonic Relationships, Alpha Peter Parker, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Tony Stark, Recovery, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Touch-Starved, genfic, recovery fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-05-28 14:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 64,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15050795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaDTX/pseuds/AndreaDTX
Summary: A found family, hurt/comfort story:Six months after The Snap, those who disappeared suddenly reappear, confused, sick, and lost far from home. Amongst the returned is Peter Parker. Post-snap, he's feral, non-verbal, and symptomatic of what is likely his first rut, a sensitive situation  under even the best of circumstances. Concerned for Peter's safety and feeling guilty over not being able to save his protégé the first time around, Tony steps in as Peter's in loco parentis until May can be located. For now, he's determined to give this silent, traumatized boy whatever support he needs to return to the bright, energetic teenager he once was. What Tony doesn't realize is that in the process of trying to be the support Peter needs, the boy's traumas aren't the only ones they'll have to address.Note: Although ABO sexuality will be discussed and dealt with, this is a hurt/comfort fic, not intended to be smutty. There is absolutely NO sexual contact between Peter and any adults.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thanks for dropping by! If you like this story or have any thoughts or comments drop me a line or a kudos. :)

_Please… Please… I don’t want to go…_

Tony Stark watches through the two-way mirror, staring at the trembling boy folded in on himself. No, not quite a boy. A once confident and cocky young man, anxious to prove himself, who now sits, curled, shaking, and mute on the thresh hold of manhood. With a self-reproaching rap of his knuckles on the mirror frame, Tony turns away.

"Hang in there, kid," he murmurs. "I'm gonna make this right."

They’d gotten them back, all of them… somehow. And the world's wobbling chaotically as half of the population has suddenly reappeared, shaken and shell-shocked, most in need of medical and psychiatric care. The other half, which had spent months frightened and in mourning, isn’t doing much better. Everyone has questions. No one has any answers.

The Avengers hadn’t solved this. Oh, they'd tried. But none of their frantic scheming or brainstorming had born any fruit. Thor banished himself into exile, distraught by what he considered his biggest failure to protect the Nine Realms. The acquaintances they had that could manipulate time, space, or other elements of mysticism had disappeared in the snap. That left them with physical brawlers and scientists. Great in a fight, not so good at mending the fabric of reality. Best they can tell, Thanos did himself in. Unable to find contentment in the 'balance' he so savagely imposed and desperately missing his beloved daughter Gamora, Thanos took a dangerous gamble, used the time stone, intending to grab her and bring her back before she could ever die in his pursuit of the Soul Stone. He rolled the dice one time too many and crapped out. While the universe may like balance, it doesn’t abide by greed or trickery. Thanos’ timehopping for the dead created a time paradox that resulted in his own destruction and—poof!—three billion people returned instantaneously in the un-snap of a pudgy, purple finger.

But the time paradox didn’t undo what had happened. Everybody still remembers The Cull. The panic of seeing their friends and family fade into nothingness. The helplessness of not knowing what was happening or how to stop it. They all still live in fear that it could happen again. What if Thanos isn’t actually gone? What if he's just somewhere else in the timeline, waiting to happen all over again? Tony doesn't have answers for the gaggles of reporters who flood his email and keep vigil outside of the compound’s gates. And he isn’t alone in his uncertainty. The government, the Pentagon, SHIELD… everybody's still in recovery mode, scrambling to help their walking wounded.

The one thing that's certain: Everybody needs help. Many of the Disappeared--The Returned, as they're now being re-branded by the media--came back far, far from home. Confused, sick, and sometimes not even in the right hemisphere, they struggled to get back to where they belonged. And the odds are stacked against them. Although they were gone from this plane, the Disappeared’s bodies all seem to have continued marking time. Hospitals are overwhelmed. Those who were pregnant flood in to give birth to overdue babies. Some of the Returned came back extremely ill from months without essential medication. Some have been committed as their psyches struggle and flail under the strain of existing then not existing then existing once again. Tony, the Avengers, what's left of SHIELD, they mobilized to get these scattered survivors with their vacant eyes, rumpled clothes, and overgrown hair back to the loved ones who're desperate to get them back and help them.

That’s how Peter Parker ends up in the Avengers compound. A cop found him wondering the National Mall alone and incoherent and thought the tatters of his suit looked a little bit like that Spider Guy who was listed amongst the Disappeared. Hoping to move one more name from Disappeared to Returned, he coaxed Peter into going with him and drove him to the gates of the compound.

"I'm Officer Patino, Metro D.C. Police," the officer explained through the speaker. "I got a kid here... Hell, it might be a Halloween costume, but if it is, it's a damned good one. Looks a helluva lot like Spiderman. So I--"

At the first utterance of the word ‘Spiderman’, Tony was in his suit and flying to meet them. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he retracted all of his gear into their wristbands and rushed forward to hug Peter, nearly dizzy with the relief of seeing the kid alive. He barely got within two feet of Peter before the smell hit him. Bitter, burned rubber with a heavy layer of distress and weary aggression.

Pre-rut alpha.

Peter looked at him, eyes confused, completely void of recognition, head tilted, greasy, stringy hair falling in his face. He sniffed sharply, latching on to Tony’s unmistakable omega scent. A whining growl rippled from his throat. Tony barely had time to re-deploy his suit before Peter pounced and had him pinned to the ground, his hands scrabbling at the suit, trying to get to the source of the scent beneath it. Tony struggled against Peter's unrestrained super strength, needing to get free but desperate not to have to hurt the kid.

The saving grace had been the cop. The force had put priority on deploying as many betas on patrol as possible, knowing their pheromones had calming influences on alphas, betas, and omegas alike, very important with so many lost, confused, and distraught people in the city.

"Easy... Easy... Just relax," the officer crooned.

Wrapping a restraining arm around Peter’s neck and shoving the scent glands at his wrist under the kid’s nose, he held tightly until the smell managed to soothe Peter into a less aggressive state. Working together, Tony and the cop got Peter inside.

Which is how they end up here with Peter locked in the medical observation wing, curled in a corner, sedated to the gills but still semi-conscious and writhing in discomfort. Tony’d dug up Peter’s school and medical records. No designation. He hadn’t presented before The Cull. Regret puddles heavily in Tony’s stomach, making him feel slightly ill with how careless he's been. He'd known the kid was young, but he hadn’t stopped to think about exactly what that meant. How much Peter had stood to lose when he chose to throw in with Tony.

And now the poor guy's been dumped back to life, completely wild and confused and on the brink of his very first rut. Tony's protective side swells and the few paternal instincts he has ache for the kid. There are no suppressants for alphas. This is going to happen, ready or not .

 _Or knot,_ his mind snarkily jokes, but he can’t laugh because there's a big question hanging in the air.

How's he supposed to ethically get an underaged feral superkid through his first rut?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The video that inspired this story (SFW): [And If You Died...](https://youtu.be/MpVz-IvxOrk)


	2. Chapter 2

Tony remembered presenting as both a conflicting and freeing time. After he'd gotten over his initial Howard-induced shame of devaluing the family name by presenting as an omega, Tony had decided to revel in his designation by treating himself to every sufficiently attractive alpha he came in contact with, free from the weight of the Stark legacy. Flitting from alpha to alpha made him feel powerful, wanted. Even in the eighties, society had still believed it was supposed to be the alpha who had all the power and the good little betas and omegas should wait, demurely hoping they’d be lucky enough to be picked. He’d turned that bullshit convention on its ear. He’d learned to manipulate them, laugh at their jokes, make them think everything was their idea while subtly controlling the sex, getting them to do things they’d never admit in the light of day while sober, things no ‘proper’ alpha would do. After that, he'd expanded, seeing no reason to limit himself to alphas when there was a whole world of things to see and people to do. He’d built up quite the reputation, one he’s not so proud of nowadays, by the time he met Pepper, his sweet, long-suffering beta mate who excels at keeping him calm and putting out the social fires he inadvertently sets.

None of that’s information he can share with a teenager, recently back from the unknown beyond, who’s lost in his own head while his body prepares to rampage through age old rites of passage. Determined to get Peter whatever he needs to get through this whole thing in both sound body and mind, Tony throws himself into this like he would any of his projects.

Peter being an alpha alone should make it much smoother. Tony remembers how horrified he’d been the day he woke up with warm slick dripping between his thighs. His dad had been going on for the better part of a year about how Stark men were alphas and Tony would be no exception, future emperor of Stark Industries, commanding everyone around him and chasing every pretty beta and omega in sight. Tony had gone along, excitedly basking in the glow of his father’s attention for once. He read all about alpha secondary physiology and snuck some of his dad’s porn magazines. He'd been fascinated by the swollen alpha knots, which in hindsight should have been a warning, but he'd been equally drawn to the slick omega holes, male and female, on display. He’d imagined what it would feel like and waited anxiously for his first knot to pop and prove that he was a ‘real man’, the strong, alpha his father had always wanted.

And then it had all come crashing down.

Howard didn’t talk to him for weeks after the omega scent had outed him, as though it was somehow Tony’s fault his body had betrayed him, like he’d presented omega on purpose. Tony was never going to be his brilliant, alpha heir; instead, he became Howard’s embarrassing, omega problem child.

Peter doesn’t have a dad. Or a mom. Like Tony, he’d been orphaned, but much younger, after his parents, Richard and Mary, died in a plane crash when the kid was four. He’d been sent to live with May and Ben, his aunt and uncle, where they’d been happy until Ben, a police officer, had been killed in the Battle of New York. And until they find May, the kid’s completely on his own with Tony as his only protection and de facto guardian.

Tony’s stomach grumbles, reminding him he’s been at this all day. He grabs a handful of dried mango strips from one of his many hidey holes, chewing on them while he watches Peter through the hologram feed on his lab's console. He doesn’t seem overly agitated right now but he’s been pacing the small confines for over half an hour. Tony knows the kid is whip smart; he’s gotta be bored by now. Do you get bored while feral? Or is it all one big ebb and flow panic attack? They can’t give him a StarkPad or anything that might be used to hurt himself or others. A book might be used as a blunt weapon. As an omega, even a bonded one, Tony can’t even go sit with him until they get his rut under control. The only interactions he’s had so far while conscious and un-sedated are the Styrofoam food trays sliding under the door. The isolation is making him more feral; the ferality is exacerbating his pre-rut.

“FRIDAY, get me Helen Cho,” Tony commands his AI.

“One moment, Boss,” FRIDAY replies in a cheerful Irish accent. “Dialing now.”

Seconds later, his display pops up revealing a very tired-looking Helen Cho. “Hi, Tony. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Hey Doc, dazzle me with your knowledge of feral alphas and rut.”

To her credit, Dr. Cho doesn’t blush or even really blink. “The internet search I know you’ve already run is right. Feral alphas in rut are incredibly dangerous and need to be isolated for their own safety and the safety of those around them. They’re running on pure instinct and are to be treated with utmost caution. Which Avenger should I be stocking tranqs for?”

Sharp one, that Dr. Cho. That’s why Tony likes her, when she isn’t being mind controlled by an evil robot he accidentally built.

“Not an Avenger. Well, maybe a junior one. Can I get some of that doctor-patient confidentiality?”

Dr. Cho nods. “My lips are sealed.”

“Gotta kid—we call him Spiderman—really he’s a kid. Got caught up in The Cull. Got him back reeking of pre-rut, but he’s also gone feral. Won’t talk, growls and snarls, and you can’t get within a few feet of him without him freaking out or attacking unless you can drown him in beta pheromones and knock him out. We’ve got him in a medical containment room for now, but I’m trying to figure out a humane way to get him through rut so we can treat the feral and get him re-integrated.”

Dr. Cho’s forehead crinkles as she thinks. “Not a lot of options to be honest. Feral kids are rare. Usually contact with their family keeps it from happening. How old’s the kid?”

“Fifteen, almost sixteen.”

She sighs. “Too young for ABO Health Services…”

ABO Health Services is a government-run mental health services that employs alpha, beta, and omega workers specifically to serve as physical companions for traumatized, abandoned, or otherwise neglected people of any designation to avoid letting them fall feral or to help bring them back. However, because they can’t legally or ethically employ minors for sex-related services, they can’t service minors either. Teenagers sometimes land in a sticky area where they’re old enough for rut and heat, but not old enough to be treated for rut and heat. It’s a quandary the country had been struggling with since the 70s.

“Don’t you have a guy… a vet who does mental health services?” Dr. Cho asks. “He might know somebody that specializes in feral kids.”

Tony shakes his head sadly. “Falcon. He got caught up in The Cull as well. We haven’t found him yet and when we do, he’s probably gonna need help of his own.”

Dr. Cho murmurs her condolences and best wishes. “Honestly, Tony, your best bet for a minor is going to be rut toys. I can get you some recommendations, but, as a female beta myself, they would just be that, recommendations. You don’t have any alphas in that big tower of yours?”

“Not any with the clear—” Tony freezes as a realization pops into his head and he starts laughing, first slowly and then a little hysterically. “Capsicle’s here. He’s an alpha.”

Dr. Cho’s mouth perks up into a smirk, the first crack in her consummately professional façade. “If you’re going to ask Captain America about his first rut, I want it videoed for posterity.”

“Thank you, my medical mistress. If I survive, I’ll let you know.”

Tony signs off and heads toward the elevators. “FRIDAY, where's Captain Rogers?”

“Eating lunch in the courtyard, Boss. Shall I take you to there?”

“Absolutely,” Tony chirps.

This whole thing’s stressing him out, but the chance to both get the information he needs _and_ make Captain Choir Boy blush might be the redeeming cherry on this shit sundae.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Not so) Fun Fact: In some Spiderman canon, Peter's parents, Richard and Mary, were double agents inside of HYDRA. They were killed by the Winter Soldier when their duplicity was discovered...


	3. Chapter 3

“Hey, Capsicle, what’s the easiest way to pop your knot?” Tony asks loud and bright as he enters the courtyard.

A couple of beta worker drones—Miller and Hensley?—giggle nervously, their wide eyes darting between Tony and Cap who's sitting at a concrete picnic table next to his bond mate and best buddy, Bucky Barnes.

 _Say that five times fast,_ Tony thinks to himself.

The ladies gather their trash and clear out quickly, throwing amused and curious looks over their shoulders the whole way. The tiff between Cap, Barnes, and himself isn’t exactly a well-kept secret even if they’ve since called a truce. If it weren’t for mandatory confidentiality agreement for all compound employees, this would probably be all over social media before they hit the elevators.

“That’s an extremely personal question,” Cap answers much more quietly than Tony had been. Barnes shifts agitatedly but says nothing, instead scooting closer to Cap, pushing until his alpha lifts an arm and pulls the omega into a side hug.

Even over the odors of the city and the freshness of the courtyard trees, the smell of both mildy irritated alpha and weary, stand-offish omega is sharp and distinctive, a harsh but complimentary combination of burnt toast and bitter almonds.

Tony narrows his eyes at Barnes. It’s still hard to look at the man, even though he knows Barnes had been brainwashed when he killed Howard and his mom. And Tony _had_ shot off his arm and tried to kill him in return, so they were kinda even. But he still couldn’t resist the urge to take jabs every chance he got…

“Newman,” he mutters darkly in greeting.

Barnes ignores him. Either he doesn’t get the Seinfeld reference or he takes great pleasure in denying the true brilliance of Tony’s pop culture genius. The odds are 50-50.

Tony hops up on the table nearly totally-accidentally knocking Barnes’ drink into his lap.

“No, Cap. I’m serious. This is an important and legitimate medical question. A life is on the line. What do you do when Siberian Cyborg isn’t available and you feel a need to hide the salami and pop a pimento?”

Steve studies him for a long moment before rolling his eyes and shrugging. “Bucky and I are bonded mates. Our heat/rut cycles are tied now. I wouldn’t go into rut if he wasn’t around. You know how that works.”

“Fine. Okay, but before…” Tony pushes, “like after my dad helped make you. Or when you first came out of the ice, surely…”

Cap huffs in irritation, puts down his sandwich, and turns to face Tony. “What’s going on? I know you pride yourself on being shocking and over the top but this is rude and invasive even for you and you’re making both of us extremely uncomfortable.”

Tony sighs. Leave it to Steve to whip out his ‘Captain America disapproves’ voice and suck all the fun out of it.

“You remember Underoos? The kid in the red and blue onesie from our airport spat?”

Cap pauses briefly to think and then nods. “The mouthy kid from Queens? Yeah. I liked him.”

Tony pulls out his StarkPad and pulls up a display. It’s streaming footage from Peter’s containment room. Peter’s dressed in all-white, a hard-fought battle that’d required sedatives and ended in completely shredded clothing three times before they’d realized he was reacting to the scent on the clothes. They got him stuff that hadn’t been touched with bare hands. Now, he’s a bit calmer, curled up on his side on the floor, one hand at his mouth, biting at nails Tony’s sure are already bitten down to the quick, the other slow-moving hand down the front of his scrubs, staring blankly into space. A far cry from the spunky kid who’d been ecstatic to meet Captain America even in an all-out fight.

Tony sighs at the memory that feels like ages ago. “That’s him now. We found him wandering the National Mall yesterday morning. He’s feral and pre-rut. No record of it ever happening before so I’m pretty sure it’s his first one. We gotta get him through rut before we can help him, but since he’s still a cub scout, I don’t know how to do it without scarring him for life.”

“Shit,” Cap curses soundly.

“Language,” Tony reminds him.

Cap shrugs off the admonition. “What’s your plan?”

“I’m trying to make one. If he were of age and non-feral, I’d just get him some company and let him go at it.”

“But he’s not and he is, so you can’t.”

“Right, which is why I’m here harassing the one couple I know that has up close and personal experience with both rut and re-domesticating ferals. My research says he’s got about eighteen more hours before pre-rut becomes actual rut and he’s going to be in a lot of pain if I don’t have whatever he needs. Buckykins? You got anything to contribute to Operation Knotted Web?”

Cap’s frown darkens and the smell of burnt toast strengthens. “Bucky would never do that to a child _…_ ”

Tony throws his hands up in placating surrender. “No! I know. I meant… after the rut, just to sit and talk or whatever.”

“I can’t,” Barnes speaks up for the first time. “I... I don’t do well with aggressive alphas. If he’s feral… If he tried to bite me or scruff me or even scent me, I might accidentally put him through the wall or something.”

“And imagine the disaster if either of them temporarily bonded,” Steve adds.

Tony can see Barnes shiver. No. No one wants that for either of them. Having a bond broken, even a temporary one, is cruelly painful and it’s not something anyone would wish on someone for their first rut. And from what Tony’s read in the leaked HYDRA files, those bastards used temporary bonds to torture Barnes, using his willingness to do whatever his bond mate asked to take disgusting advantage of his fragile mental state.

“Fair enough,” Tony says. “So back to my first question, what did you use for a solo rut?”

“Are you gonna make him do it here,” Steve asks, ignoring the question.

Tony shrugs, picking a chip out of Barnes’ bag since he wasn’t eating them. “’Make him’ sounds so harsh. He’s got super strength, heightened perception, a sixth sense, probably a few abilities I don't even know about and he’s really fast and athletic on top of being really smart. And he’s not in control of any of it right now. Can’t exactly take him to the Adolphus. That entire ward was built with Mean Green and Old Man Winter here in mind.”

Steve gives him an uneasy look.

“If he’s really never presented, this is going to be his first time. I know you don’t mind putting on a show, but as someone who spent a good deal of my first rut under really intrusive observation, I wouldn’t wish that on anybody else.”

Tony frowns. “They watched you rut? They didn’t have better things to do with an entire world war going on?”

Steve laughs, bitter and short, his eyes going unfocused as though he’s remembered some unpleasant memory.

“They wanted to know everything about me. What made me tick, what I could do, what I could take, how I reacted to things. They wanted me in rut, bonded with the perfect omega of their choosing, and pumping my mate full of patriotic little super soldiers that would give them an entire army some day. It absolutely burst their bubble when I reminded them Captain America’s not actually _in_ my genetic code and any kids of mine would be average at best, if not extremely frail and deathly ill with no serum to save them.”

Steve smiles but it’s flat and humorless. “ _That’s_ when they decided I’d be more valuable as a traveling propaganda piece since there was literally no way to replicate me. The Smithsonian managed to leave that part out, though.”

Barnes leans his head on Cap’s shoulder. The bitter almond smell that’d been wafting off of him slides into warm almond butter as he nudges his head against Steve’s head and cheek, making Steve’s scent waffle between burnt toast and warm bread.

Steve presses a light kiss to the side of Barnes’ head. “If he has to do it here, you need to get him somewhere private. Really private. No eyes. No ears. Not even the electronic kind.”

Tony sighs and wipes a hand across his face.

“It’s not like I wanna watch him. I was planning on having FRIDAY handle the footage. How am I supposed to make sure he’s safe if I don’t know what he’s doing?”

Without pulling away from Cap, Barnes’ eyes really focused on Tony. The sudden intensity of his stare makes the hairs on the back of Tony’s neck stand up as Barnes’ bitter almond smell darkens into the scent of acrid smoke like after a house has burned down. He really would’ve been tempted to deploy his suit if Steve wasn’t here.

“Having people watch you, record you when you’re like that, for ‘science’ or for fun or ‘for your own good,’” Barnes says, spitting the words with clear disdain at whatever memory they’re invoking, “is humiliating and degrading. I guarantee when that kid’s back to himself, he’s not gonna wanna look any of us in the face and that’ll be even if he never finds out we had to help plan his first rut. If you’re monitoring, even using a live feed, you’re leaving a chance, no matter how tiny that somebody can get their hands on it and use it to hurt him later. D’you know how much people would pay to see Captain America in rut?”

He tosses a glance up at Steve. “And those ‘Winter Soldier Gets Pounded’ videos from the intel dump get what? Two or three million views every time they pop up? Even though they’re always yanked within hours of going up.”

He looks back at Tony. “I get that you’re focusing on the ‘fun’ side of rut to keep from freaking out about him, but if you really care, you’ll protect his privacy with every you got, Stark. He wouldn’t want _anyone_ to see him that way. Especially not you.”

Okay. Rut strategies have just lost priority placement to constructing a safe rutting den.

“Thanks,” Tony murmurs, sliding off the bench, ideas already whipping through his head.

He’s on the phone with construction contractors before he even gets back to the elevator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Pheromone scents: 
> 
> -I picked almond for Bucky's omega scent because Captain America: The First Avenger depicted HYDRA agents having cyanide capsules in their teeth so they could kill themselves if they were at risk of being captured. Bodies that die of cyanide poisoning are described as smelling like bitter almonds, so I thought it would be appropriate that Bucky would smell like bitter almonds to warn people that they're saying or doing something to him that could be extremely hazard for their health. Likewise, I picked bread for Cap's scent because smelling burnt toast where there is none can be a sign that you're having a stroke and need immediate medical attention.  
> -I also liked the idea that when put together and happy, Steve and Bucky would smell like a fresh, warm peanut butter sandwich which is a childhood comfort food for most people (although Steve was probably allergic to tree nuts pre-serum...)


	4. Chapter 4

It takes a few hours and a hefty commission bonus to get a construction crew in to make a den on such an unusually tight deadline. The extra money's enough they don't even complain about having to work in hazmat suits to avoid scenting the space. With so little time, Tony focuses on renovating an already existing space, a large but isolated sub-leveled room so only critical personnel would have reason to be in the area. He has the crew close-circuit the ventilation to keep rut pheromones contained and add a layer of soundproofing padding to the walls. While they work, Tony strips FRIDAY’s access down to barebones health monitoring. No eyes, no ears, no two-way mirrors. Just monitoring Peter’s heart rate and temperature.

The one concession is a meter tucked into the ceiling, a safety net he designed to activate only if Peter’s vocal decibels reach a certain intensity, indicating distress, and stay that way for more than ten seconds. It would then synch with FRIDAY’s heart rate and temperature readings. If all three measures indicate distress for longer than thirty seconds, Tony will be notified. Tony’s proud of his latest invention. It took a considerable amount of research, tinkering, and calibrating to make sure it won’t confuse distress and, well… _not_ distress.

The ultra-speedy renovation eats up most of the remaining hours, but Tony thrives on pressure and multi-tasking is his bread and butter. After the crew is done, he throws in comfort items like sheets and blankets that can’t be ripped, pillows, and mats that can be arranged to create hidey, safe spots which the internet suggested might be helpful, the only thing left are the rut toys. Shopping for sex toys for his not-quite ward is a level of awkward Tony hadn’t fully appreciated when he started this endeavor. So of course, he goes back to harass Cap some more.

“I told FRIDAY not to let you in,” Steve says looking up from where he and Barnes are watching a movie on the couch. Steve’s sitting at one end with Barnes resting his head on Steve’s thigh. They look oddly domestic in plaid pajama pants, t-shirts, and bare feet.

Tony nods. “She told me, but I have the ability to override any commands. You know, in case, anybody in the tower suddenly turns out to be a dirty HYDRA mole.”

He purposefully and blatantly looks at Cap instead of so much as sparing a glance at Barnes.

“I’m assuming you want a favor and it’s something you know I don’t wanna do,” Cap says calmly but through clenched teeth, “so I’d be very careful with my words right about now.”

Tony huffs. It was just a joke. Kinda. “You fuddy-duddies are too serious. Anyway, I need you to pick out rut toys for Underoos.”

Tony tries to hand him the StarkPad, but Cap looks at it like it's a poisonous snake. Tony roll his eyes in exasperation.

“Come on. I considered building him something, but I don’t’ really have time and I would have to guesstimate measurements which creeps me out just thinking about it” Tony says with a shudder. He wrinkles his brow in thought. “I bet there’s not much of a supply for rut/heat supplies for enhanced humans, though. Maybe SI could pioneer the field. Hey, FRIDAY, make a reminder for that.”

“Reminder entered, Boss,” Friday answers promptly.

Cap stares at him, a comically horrified look on his face. “I’m not helping with any research or testing on that.”

Tony smiles, ignores him, and tries to hand him the tablet again. No dice.

“You can’t convince me with all your experience that you can’t pick out a simple toy to…” he makes a vaguely dirty hand motion.

“Of course. I can look and tell if it would be good for hide the hot dog, but… Cap, cover your ears,” he said then switches to a stage whisper. “I don’t have a knot.”

Bucky snorts.

“Isn’t your driver—Happy?—an alpha?”

“Yep, but I’m his boss so asking him about his knot is apparently ‘Workplace sexual harassment’ which brings me back to you.” He holds out the tablet to Cap who still refuses to take it. “ _Come on_. Time's running out. It's for the kid and he really needs this stuff. I narrowed it down for you, but I need someone who actually has the equipment to look it over and decide which looks like it would be best.”

Steve reluctantly takes the tablet. “You just like making me look at pornographic material.”

Tony nods enthusiastically. “Yes. That, too.”

While Cap browses, Tony sits on Barnes legs, forcing him to draw them in and clear the end of the couch. He nearly bites his tongue to keep from hissing out loud when Barnes pinches him sharply in retaliation—with the metal fingers! He turns to Cap to object only to find he didn’t see it because he’s busy with the tablet. Barnes smirks at him smugly, daring him to tattle. Tony narrows his eyes but says nothing, begrudgingly letting Rin-tin-tin win this round.

Steve scrolls through the offerings, eliminating some for reasons he refuses to share, until he’s narrowed it down to three options.

“Buy those. In multiples, in case he breaks them.”

Tony takes the tablet back and taps a few buttons on the screen to confirm the order for two-hour delivery.

“You figure out your plan for treating the feral?” Steve asks when he’s done.

“Still working on it. I’ll have something in place by the time he needs it though. This was the most immediate ticking time bomb.” Tony pops up the display on his wrist module and shows Steve some of the sites he’s been looking at. “Dug up a ton of info. Got a lot of stuff bookmarked. Figured I could sort through it while the kid does his thing. My doc gave me some references for psychiatrists and counselors that specialize in feral domestication and PTSD in kids. Once FRIDAY’s got ‘em vetted, I’ll give ‘em a call, see what they think, set up some appointments for him. Any tips?”

“Sit. Talk. Sit some more. Talk some more. Remind him who he is and who he has.” Cap grabs Barnes’ flesh hand and interlaced their fingers. “He can’t express it right now, but he’s confused, scared, and lonely.”

“Just having someone there, someone who consistently shows up really helps,” Barnes volunteers. “It gives you something to look forward to and makes it less scary to come out of your shell. Low noise helps, too. Not TV. It’s too busy, everything jumping around on the screen is overwhelming. Maybe a podcast or something. Something kid-friendly with a calm narrator. Steve used to play these old radio mystery-comedies, _Abbott Mysteries_ , and a… a game show. What was it called, Stevie?”

“ _Add A Line_ ,” Cap supplied.

Barnes nodded fondly. “Yeah, I liked that. It gave me something to do in my head. A way of… interacting even though I wasn’t ready to talk.”

Tony smiles softly. “That’s actually helpful, Buckaroo.”

Barnes shrugs. “I have my moments. Don’t get used to it, though.”

“All right. I’ve imposed on you crazy kids long enough,” Tony says and stands up. “Lots to do in a short amount of time. I’ll get out of your hair.”

Next thing on the list is getting Peter moved to his new space. That’s gonna require a couple of betas and maybe some tranqs and a transport bed? He could—

“Tony,” Cap calls.

Tony pauses halfway down the hall, turning back.

“You’re doing a really good thing. The kid’s lucky to have you.”

Tony shakes his head. “It’s the least I can do. I owe it to him.”

* * *

Tony cuts it as close as he dares, trying to get everything in place. The packages finally arrive and he sends them to be cleaned to ensure they're sterile and scent-free which earns him a soft, but firmly word request from Pep that if he absolutely has to wash sex toys in the dishwasher to please not do it in the same load as their breakfast dishes. Tony apologizes even though it was technically Dumm-E's fault for choosing the one in the kitchen and not the equipment sterilizer in his lab and FRIDAY's fault for not redirecting him. 

Finally, the room’s good as it’s gonna get and the countdown he’s had FRIDAY tracking shows less than an hour until Peter’s symptomatic. The only thing left to do is go get the kid moved.

He heads back to the medical containment wing with two beta nurses. The medical staff figured it was the best combination. None of the staff has the physical ability to subdue a super human. Cap has the strength but his alpha scent might trigger Peter's territorial instincts. Bucky can't because he himself might be triggered by Peter's feral behavior. So that leaves support betas and Tony, using his suit to act as muscle. After they double and triple check with some of the alpha staff to make sure the suppressants are blocking his omega scent as much as possible, they head to Peter’s containment room. Just outside the door, he deploys his suit, all but the face mask. He punches up the display on his arm that will let him project onto the halo inside of the room.

“Hey Petey. It’s me. Tony,” he says. “I know you’re pretty scared and not feeling so hot. We’re here to help. I’m coming in with two nurses and we’re going to get you everything you need, but you have to stay calm. You’re going to be all right. I promise you.”

The only answer is a deep, throaty growl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: The slogan for Tony's hypothetical rut toy company was going to be "Once you pop, you can't stop", but then Google reminded me that was already Pringle's slogan. I was very hurt and disappointed...


	5. Chapter 5

When they open the door, Peter’s in a defensive crouch by the back wall. Every line of his body is tense, practically screaming ‘Back off!’ He’s balanced on the balls of his feet with one hand planted on the floor between them as the third point of the tripod. It's his Spiderman stance, the one he uses when his sixth sense is telling him trouble’s brewing and he might have to jump in to help or shoot some web and get the hell out of Dodge. Tony knows for a fact the webslingers are empty. He’d only left them on the kid because he thought the familiarity of one of the more benign parts of his arsenal might help calm him, make him feel less vulnerable.

Tony steps in, slowly, hands raised and visible. The betas quietly step in behind him but stay just inside the door like they'd discussed.

“Hey Itsy-Bitsy, it’s me. Tony. Stark. Iron Man,” Tony says. “I guess you can see that from the suit, though.”

Peter’s growl increases. He bares his teeth and that now-familiar burned rubber scent fills the room, broadcasting his displeasure. His chest is heaving, his forehead’s glistening with sweat and even from here, Tony can see his muscles twitching and shaking. They need to move quickly.

“My friends here are going to give you something that’s going to take that edge off, help you relax. Then we’re going to move you somewhere private and way more comfortable than this dump, into a room where you can... do what you need, until it’s out of your system. You’ll feel a lot better afterwards, I swear. Okay?”

Tony waits for a response, but it’s clear after a few seconds he won’t get one and the longer they take, the more chance Peter might decide to launch an outright blitz attack. He takes one careful step forward and then another and another. Peter’s growl changes, shift from deep and warning to higher like a wounded, frightened dog. His eyes go wide, the whites exposed and bloodshot, and the rubber smell changes to bitter tar. Tony stops, murmurs soft, reassuring non-sense, letting the betas who’ve been using him as both cover and a distraction get closer and do their thing. The smell of sugar cookies and fresh cut flowers cuts through Peter’s anxious scent. Their calming pheromones flood the room, growing so thick it makes Tony’s head swim and he has to fight his brain’s impulse to ' _sit down, relax, maybe take a nap_.'

They wait until Peter sways, then drops from the balls of his feet to his knees. The high-growling fades to weak whimpers and the tar smell dissolves into something closer to warm leather. The nurse to Tony’s left slips around and injects Peter with a dose of sedative that should keep him in La-La Land long enough to get him downstairs. Tony fits a scent mask over Peter’s face that will filter out any smells they might encounter on their route. Peter’s head lolls and he stares dazedly at Tony. The helpless, fearful look tugs at Tony.

“You’re doing good, kid. We’re almost there,” Tony says, running a hand through Peter’s hair, pushing it out of the boy’s face, regretting that he has to do it through the metal gauntlet. “Alright, up we go.”

With one hand under Peter’s knees and the other behind his back, Tony scoops him up bridal-style. Peter’s not a lightweight but not as heavy as a grown man either. He’s lanky and slight, like most teenagers, maybe a bit lighter from being off his feed most of the time he's been back.

A long walk down pre-cleared hallways and an elevator ride later, Tony deposits Peter on the bed in the safe room. He stands and looks around. Not sure what else to do, he takes a blanket and spreads it over the drowsy boy.

“Okay, I’m sorry to leave you alone again, but it’s  _definitely_ for the best. You’ve got everything I could think of. If you need anything, give a shout. Like, literally. In a few days, it'll all be over and then we can really focus on getting you sorted out.”

With one last look, Tony exits the room and closes the door, locking Peter in for the duration.

* * *

It takes twenty minutes for the thumping to stop. Tony’s deeply grateful for reinforced walls as Peter apparently tries to kick and claw his way to freedom. On the bright side, Peter’s tantrum proves that the distress notification system definitely works. Tony has to reset it six time in twenty minutes.

After that fraught twenty minutes, there’s no more noise. Tony aches to check, make sure the kid didn’t knock himself out or anything, but he doesn’t want to invade his privacy if he’s… busy… or get him all worked up again. Trusting his tech, Tony settles in for the long haul. He’s taken over the adjacent room so that if something goes wrong, the staff doesn’t have to scramble to find him in the compound.

Settled on a reclining chair, he’s reading through the emails from the psychiatrists FRIDAY vetted. Most send links to possible resources, regretfully admitting to only being able to help with one leg of the problem: kids, PTSD or the feral. A few specialize in handling a combination of two. Only one seems to deal with all three, although not usually combined. Angelika Eshmun. Jumping tabs, Tony looks her up. Her website talks about platonic touch therapy, scent therapy, and talk therapy.

“FRIDAY, composing an email for Angelika Eshmun,” Tony says.

“At the ready, Boss,” FRIDAY responds.

Tony sends her a short missive on the situation. Teenager recently returned from The Cull. Newly presented alpha, feral, enhanced human.

It doesn’t take long to receive a response. After a little back and forth about details of the present situation, she agrees to come evaluate Peter as soon as he finishes his rut.

Next, Tony calls in a few more beta medical personnel. The ones he has are fantastic but they aren’t enough to comprise an entire medical staff and they were never intended to work around the clock like they’ve been doing (Tony has FRIDAY remind him to make sure their Christmas stockings are little fuller this year). In the containment unit, Peter absolutely wouldn’t calm down around other alphas, growling and snarling until his voice was hoarse, and Tony feared for the safety of any omegas. With Peter’s lack of control and his natural super strength, an omega might’ve been taken down like a wounded gazelle straying too far from the pack. He gets enough responses to form a second shift.

He goes back to researching. According to reports, a significant portion but not all the Returned came back feral. The ‘experts’ aren’t sure what caused some to turn while others came back fine. It affected all three designations so it wasn’t some ‘weak omega’ or ‘naturally wilder alpha’ thing. There’s a preliminary hypothesis that already having a bonded heat/rut partner may have played a role, but there are enough mated Returned who went feral and enough unmated that didn’t that the hypothesis remains just that. Enough came back feral or pre-heat/rut that ABO Health Services has had a sharp spike in service requests. They’re dealing with the adults but also offering guidelines for helping kids. Tony clicks through the guide, but it’s mostly stuff he’s already found on his own.

The only breaks he takes are for meals and that’s mostly because he delivers Peter’s meals. Sliding a Styrofoam tray through a hatch at the bottom of the door, but with nothing but time to think and insane levels of strength, Peter could do a lot through that small slot so Tony takes the risk to keep the staff safe. Nothing’s happened so far though. Just the overwhelming smell of warm leather, like a leather jacket or new leather car seats in the sun. Apparently, Peter has figured out how to make himself very, very happy.

The wing's restricted for the time being so there’s not much foot traffic. However, Cap, and by default, Barnes, come by once a day for moral support.

“How did you bounce back from The Cull so fast?” Tony curiously asks Barnes during one of their visits.

Barnes thinks for a moment then shrugs. “I’ve had bad guys scrambling my brains for nearly my entire life. I guess, my brains gotten really efficient at trying to put the scrambled egg bits back into the shell.”

Damn it. Tony hates it when Barnes makes him feel bad for the guy so he just nods and they all talk about nothing until Cap has to go for a meeting.

It takes three days for Peter to wear himself out. Tony decides to give him a fourth day just to be sure. The boy’s body temperature readings return to normal and his heart rate is slow and steady for hours on end, suggesting he’s resting, sleeping without being woken up by driving need. At the end of the fourth day, Tony shoots Dr. Eshmun that email.

Now the real work begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Peter's scent are scents associated with cars: leather seats, burned rubber (tires) and hot tar (the road). I picked this because I once heard someone describe a new recruit as being so green they still have that 'new car' smell. 
> 
> Alrighty guys! That's it for this week. Thanks for all the love you've shown my story so far! I'll have a new chapter ready to go on Monday :)


	6. Chapter 6

Tony waffles on whether to move the kid again. The two-way mirror would probably make this part much easier, the ability to observe him day and night, see how he reacts following interactions, tell at a glance how well he’s eating or sleeping. _If_ he’s sleeping and eating. But Cap and Barnes’ words about the humiliation of being watched echo in his mind. He consults Dr. Eshmun who says it would be better to leave him be. He’s comfortable, the room’s already scent-marked to his liking, and a constantly changing environment is frightening for a feral, particularly since they use sedatives to move him. Doing it again would not only increase his fear of the medical staff, but it might make him afraid to sleep, afraid of where he’ll be when he wakes.

Unfortunately, the sedatives prove unavoidable. They try to work around him to clean up the room which, after four days, has definitely seen better days, but their presence throws Peter completely off kilter. He gets so worked up, they end up having to put him under so they can clear away the meal trays, laundry, toys and mess from his rut (Tony probably could have lived without ever knowing how much mess a fifteen-year-old alpha was capable of making). As the meds are taking hold, Tony tries to soothe him, promises him over and over that they won’t move him, that he’ll be okay. While the staff works, Tony sits with Peter whose eyes are barely slits and nearly rolling in their sockets as he tries to track the action around him, a whimper of a growl vibrating in his chest. Dark smudges underneath prove he’s not sleeping well and he’s somehow even thinner than he’d been five days ago. Tony makes a mental note to do some research. They’ve been feeding him like a super soldier but he doesn’t have the serum. Maybe his needs are different.

“Don’t worry. Helps on the way,” Tony murmurs.

They get him clean sheets, clean clothes, restock everything that’s been used, and Tony puts him to bed so he can sleep off the drugs, draping a blanket over him. Other than that, they try to disturb him as little as possible.

Later that day, he meets with Dr. Eshmun to figure out how this whole thing is going to go.

“Alright, Doc. What’s our battle plan?”

Dr. Eshmun smiles. She’s a pleasant-looking lady, very zen. Her dark hair’s slicked and braided into a faux hawk and her clothes strike a curious balance between idiosyncratically trendy and professional. She’s younger than Tony’d expected but having started at MIT when he was only fifteen, he really isn’t surprised by unusually young experts. He offers her his recliner, but she declines and takes a seat on the fold out chair one of the staff brought in.

“I read the file you sent. Based on that information, PTSD seems a given. I’ll want to confirm it when I can finally talk with him, but my preliminary thoughts are creating some long- and short-term self-care and integration goals with him and mapping out the best strategies to treat them. But that’s in the future. We won’t be able to help him with the PTSD until the ferality is treated so that will be our main priority for now.”

Tony nods. It’s nothing he hadn’t already figured out. Gotta ride out the rut to get to the feral, gotta treat the feral to get to the PTSD. “I’ll follow your lead. Just tell me what you need me to do.”

“Well, the research is definitive. The only way to rehabilitate a feral is sustained, calm contact with others. I suggest, we start with one person who spends a little time with him each day in steadily increasing increments until he’s comfortable with that person.”

“I can do that.”

“Do you think he’d respond well to you?” she asks.

“Better than anybody else we have on hand. I’d kinda been helping him before the… before it all happened. Kinda like a mentee or something.

Dr. Eshmun nodded. “Okay. We’ll start with just you. Slowly try to engage him. No touching, no eye contact. Just talking a bit. Over time, we’ll get him used to more interaction, talking, being around more than one person. A lot of ferals are touch-starved, too, so eventually, we may expand into touch therapy, massages with pheromone treatments. With a board-certified masseuse.”

“Fantastic. We’ll have him back as good as new,” Tony says with a clap of his hands.

Dr. Eshmun gives him a sympathetic smile that makes him uneasy on sight.

“Mr. Stark—”

“Tony. Mr. Stark was my father.”

“Tony. I believe in setting realistic goals. I think it’s important that we address the fact that Peter has been through something humans aren’t meant to experience. While we’ll work very hard to get him back on his feet, he’s not going to be the exact same kid he was. He can’t be.”

Tony doesn’t say anything. He can't. The words sting. It’s one thing to know it in the back of his mind. It’s another to hear a trained professional voice his worst fears.

“I’m not going to insult you by pretending not to know who you are or who Peter might be that warrants treatment at the Avengers Compound,” she continues. “I think what you’re doing is great. Peter’s getting support that’s simply not available to most of the Returned.”

“We’re trying to help as many as we can,” Tony objected, thinking of the money he’d donated to recovery centers across the country.

“I’m sure you are,” she assures him. “Just remember, we have to keep expectations reasonable and you can’t lose yourself in his rehabilitation. The Returned are getting all of the attention, but those who were left behind were affected, too. Don’t forget about yourself. You can’t take care of him if you’re not taking care of you.”

He’s heard it before, when he was spiraling after dropping back through the wormhole after the Battle of New York, when he got obsessed about protecting the world from another attack. And yeah, he had gone a little overboard. Just a smidge.

Dr. Eshmun watches him for a moment, curious but not judgmental, more than willing to give him time to speak his peace. He waits her out. He doesn’t want to go there. The past is the past and should be left there.

“If you ever want to talk, I’m here,” she offers kindly.

Tony gives a bitter smile. “Doc, I like you too much to let you inside of my head.”

* * *

The next day, running on only a few hours of sleep, Tony has shoved down the worries and concerns Eshmun dredged up. They’re locked back in the mental closet with all the other things Tony’s not ready to deal with. For now, he’s completely focused on helping Peter.

Walking up to the door without the beta staff that normally accompanies him, he pauses and takes a deep breath, a brief moment to compose himself. He feels a little weird, bereft, without his suit, but they decided it’s best to try this first contact without the armor which inherently sends a message of aggression. Out of rut, Peter’s far less likely to attack unless provoked. Tony still wears the deployment bracelets, though.

Deactivating the magnetic lock, he pushes the door open and steps inside. He doesn’t immediately see Peter and an irrational panic bolts through him. It takes a split second to truly process what he’s seeing. Peter’s created a hidey hole for himself by pulling the bed away from the wall and layering mats and blankets along the wall and the bed and over the gap between the two. It’s a burrow just large enough for one and blocks him from view, makes him harder to reach. Tony can’t help a smirk of approval. Even in this state, Peter is quick to learn and adapt.

Peter starts warning Tony off before he even steps foot in the room, his threatening growl pours out of him, deep and rumbling. The acrid tar smell of fear and agitation is so thick it makes Tony’s eyes water and he has the fight the urge to kneel and bare his neck in supplication to an alpha so clearly worked up and on the verge of attack. But logic keeps him on his feet. This alpha is fifteen and in distress and needs him to fight his own biology.

“Hey, Muffet,” Tony says. “I know you’re probably not tickled to see me. It usually means beddy-bye time, right? Sorry about that. I promise that won’t happen today. I just came to sit and hangout with my favorite webslinger. You can keep doing whatever it is you’re doing in there.”

Tony latches the door behind him and re-engages the lock but doesn’t advance any further into the room. Instead, he slides down the wall and sits, legs stretched in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He purposefully doesn’t look at Peter, knowing the kid probably has an angle in his hideout that allows him to watch the door even if he himself can’t be seen. The best move is to make Peter feel he’s not the center of Tony’s attention, so he pulls out a StarkPad and starts reading.

He reads news clips, calling out anything that might be of interest to Peter.

“James Morita was returned home yesterday morning. I didn’t know the principal of your school was the grandson of a Howling Commando,” he says with a hum of interest. “Small world. I wonder if Cap knows?”

He’s not even sure Peter is listening. He hasn’t seen any movement in his peripheral.

“The new Star Wars movie didn’t do so hot. Maybe because half of the people who would’ve gone to see it disappeared. You’re a Star Wars fan, right?”

He keeps going, not expecting a response. Just talking to get Peter used to the sound of his voice when it’s not being used to sucker him into sedation.

His StarkPad dims and vibrates after thirty minutes. Eshmun had told him he could stay for up to an hour if Peter showed signs of calming and accepting his presence, but the kid’s been growling at him the entire time and the sharp tar smell is strong as ever. That sustained level of hypervigilance has to be exhausting. He's not sure Peter could keep it up for a whole hour, but he's not going to force the kid to try.

Tony stands and the fearful growling increases. Tony has to fight the urge to let off his own distress scent, not sure there's enough of his suppressant left in his system to neutralize the smell. It stings a little that Peter is that afraid of him now.

“I’m leaving now,” Tony says steadily, swallowing around the discomfort in his chest. “Nobody’s going to hurt you. You’re safe here. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

He leaves Peter’s room and secures the .

Back in his own commandeered room, Tony’s restless. The smell of tar sits sickly in his nostrils. Not the scent given off as a warning but as a sign of true fear. His stomach churns queasily and now that it can't trigger Peter, he lets off his own bitter cherry wine scent of distress. Dr. Eshmun was right. Instead of making sedation less scary, Tony always being present before a sedation has taught Peter to be afraid of him. Another bump in an already long, damaged road. Tony sighs and runs a frustrated hand through his hair. He’s trying to help, but somehow, he’s managed to make it worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I picked cherry as Tony's scent a while back, but it took me a while to settle on cherry wine as his distressed scent. I realized it would make him smell like alcohol when he's upset. Then I decided that was appropriate for his history and all the more reason for Tony to have a "never let 'em see you sweat" attitude.


	7. Chapter 7

That night, Tony finally hits the inevitable wall of exhaustion, the point where he can’t survive on cat naps anymore and has to stop and rest or risk making needless mistakes that multiply exponentially. Slumping down onto his recliner, he still fights it until he falls into the fitful, uncomfortable, restless void.

He dreams that he and Steve are back at JFK International facing off again.

But this time, Tony stands alone.

 _Sorry, Tony. I…_ Rhodey fingers the straps of his exoskeleton body brace a moment before deploying his suit and using the repulsors to fly over and hover behind Cap. _You didn’t exactly have my back last time, did you?_

Guilt thumps his chest, the burning sting of a well-deserved sucker punch landing.

_I never… I never meant for you to get hurt. You know that._

His best friend shrugs, shimmers, reshapes into someone else.

 _Steve was right, you know,_ Natasha purrs coolly, her eyes sliding over him, narrowed and accusing.

She spins her widow batons with a feigned casualness. Tony knows better than to assume any motion she makes is benign. He takes a cautious half-step back and flicks his fingers anxiously, ready to deploy his suit.

She smirks knowingly, a jaunty tilt of her lips. _When the chips were down, the U.N. wanted you to sit around with your thumb up your ass while they ran risk assessments. Hell, they were more interested in arresting rogue Avengers who were ‘perverting justice’ than stopping a threat to the entire galaxy. We were supposed to protect the world, Tony._

She hurls one of her batons at him and his suit covers him in a blink of an eye. But it twitches and spasms. FRIDAY’s voice patches in and out, like bad cellphone reception, and warning sirens go off. He looks down and sees Steve’s shield buried in the center of his arc reactor.

Steve, suddenly in front of him, reaches out, jerks it free, and knocks Tony back, into the chair at the U.N. where he’d tried to convince Steve to sign the accords. Tony glances around, confused as to how they got here, but Steve crowds his vision.

Standing over him, Steve’s eyes boil with anger. _I told you this would happen. I warned you that signing the accords would hobble us. But, no. You couldn’t see it. Because you were so blind… so **hurt.** Over what, Tony? Billionaire playboy philanthropist and you’re jealous of some poor punk from Brooklyn. All this because your **daddy** liked me more than he liked you? Can you blame him? You built a genicidal robot that destroyed an entire country, broke up the Avengers for the grand crime of trying to keep everybody safe, got most of us declared war criminals, and topped it off by getting half the galaxy killed. Is there anything in your life you **haven’t** poisoned?_

A figure in the corner steps forward.

 _Jesus, you’re more effective than I could’ve ever hoped to be,_ Barnes says with a vicious smirk. He picks up the pen Tony had offered Steve. He flips it end over end once, twice, the black shaft a sharp contrast to the silver of his bionic arm, before a lightning quick move sends pain screaming through Tony’s hand. His stomach lurches as he stares in disbelief at his hand, impaled through and through, the pen plunged through muscle, blood burbling, streaming, coating the desk. _You were right about one thing, Stark. Left unchecked, you’re no better than the bad guys._

Tony struggles to breathe. He blinks rapidly against the stinging in his eyes, tears of pain barely held back. Nausea threatens with every shuddering gasp. He knows he needs to… to… do something, but the rest of his body is ignoring his brain’s panicked signals to act.

_You don’t look so good, Mr. Stark._

Tony looks up slowly. Steve and Barnes have disappeared. Instead, there’s Peter. Sitting in an office chair, spinning in slow, carefree circles. He’s wearing his Spiderman uniform, but the face mask lies abandoned on the floor.

This isn’t the frightened, shell-of-a-person Peter he’s been dealing with for the last week and a half. This is the excited, curious, reckless kid he’d met a year ago in that apartment in Queens. The smell of warm leather is bright and happy and Peter grins as he uses his feet to turn the chair. 

 _I’ve had better days,_ Tony says and looks pointedly at his injured hand. But it’s not there anymore. He lifts it with ease, clenching and releasing his fingers, looking at the smooth, unmarred skin, confused and relieved by the lack of pain.

He looks around, not sure what he’s expecting to see, but they’re alone. And somehow, in Avengers Tower.

 _Are you okay?,_ Tony asks.

Peter frowns a bit, slowing his chair just a little with a drag of his foot. _Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?_

Then he kicks with his foot, making the chair spin faster and faster. Between one blink and the next, a ceiling-to-floor glass window appears behind him. Tony nearly chokes on his heart when he realizes that Peter’s wild spinning is sending him right towards it. They’re way too high up. He’ll never survive the fall.

 _Hey, stop!_ He yells as he jumps up to stop Peter’s collision course with disaster.

Peter growls and spins faster and faster moving towards the window, further and further away from Tony.

Tony deploys his suit, ready to go after Peter if he goes through the window.

Suddenly, the boy stops and stares straight at Tony.

 _You smell funny,_ Peter says with a frown. Then he pushes off hard with his feet, rocketing backwards through the glass.

Activating his repulsors, Tony angles himself to go after Peter. But before he can fly off, something grips him by his shoulder keeping him grounded. When he looks he doesn’t see anything, but all of his sensors are telling him that something, someone is holding him back.

_Tony._

He’s struggling with everything he has to pull away when he smells gingerbread. He pauses, confused. That smell…

_TONY!_

“Pep?” Tony blinks awake, his heart racing.

Pepper stands next to him, peering at him in worry. Her sweet aroma barely masks his own cherry vinaigrette.

“Bad dream?” Pepper asks, brow softly furrowed in sympathy.

Tony sucks in a shaky breath and nods, still trying to convince his brain that Peter is next door, most likely asleep, not in New York falling to his death.

Pepper pushes at him until he shifts in the recliner and makes room for her to join him. She looks like she just stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine with her sleek silver A-line dress, but she doesn’t hesitate to climb up next to him and cuddle. It’s one of the things he loves about her.

“Want to tell me about it?” she asks as she noses against the scent glands on the side of his neck. A soft kiss to the scar from her mating bite makes him shiver and hum in appreciation.

He breathes in a deep lungful of her calming scent, letting his thoughts settle. He takes Pepper’s hand in his, the same hand that Dream-Barnes had speared, and interlaces their fingers. He thumbs the scent gland at her wrist, soothed by the motion and the increase in pheromones.

“Just my brain trying to convince me that everything that’s happened in the history of ever is completely my fault.”

Pepper kisses his jaw and tucks into him for a hug. “Well, your brain’s a genius, but it’s also a vicious, little liar.”

Tony murmurs an agreement. They sit in silence, softly scenting each other until Tony’s scent barely has that hint of acidity, nearly verges on the cherry tart smell of contentment.

“You haven’t had a nightmare in a while. What brought this on?”

Tony sighs. “Peter. He’s afraid of me. Somehow, I made him afraid of me. Which makes like zero sense. I’ve done nothing but help him. Plus, he’s still a superhuman alpha, even if I’m older. More experienced. Smarter. At least for now...”

“Don’t forget better-looking,” Pepper adds with barely a hint of sarcasm.

Tony waits for Pepper to dazzle him as she always does with a brilliant solution he’s too emotionally constipated to come up with on his own. But instead she continues cuddling him.

“You’re an omega who’s keeping him safe. He might be all mixed up right now, but eventually it’ll get through,” she reassures him. “He has no reason to be afraid of you. You’ll figure it out.”

They lay there wrapped up in each other until Tony falls back to sleep, blessedly dreamless this time.

* * *

Despite tossing and turning over it, Tony’s back at Peter’s door at the exact time he promised to be there. Although he’d expected it, he’s disappointed and maybe a little hurt when he’s met with the same reception. Still, he sits and works for half an hour, again reading bits and pieces of news articles. When it’s time to go, he makes Peter the same promises before leaving.

And the pattern repeats.

It’s not until day five, twenty minutes in that anything changes.

Tony’s reading an email from an inventor who’s looking for a financial backer. The invention sounds quirky and niche enough that it might work. A highlighter that fades after six months so that marked texts retain their value for resale. Might catch on with college students. Tony’s preparing to send it to Pepper as a ‘maybe’ for R&D to vet when he realizes the room is completely quiet. Without shifting his head, he looks over in his peripheral.

Peter’s head, just barely passed the opening of his impromptu burrow. He’s watching, weary and obviously ready to rabbit back to safety.

Tony, king of loud and obnoxious, considers his words closely. “Hey, Cottontail. It’s good to see you.”

Peter growls, low and soft, but it’s nowhere near as ominous as before and fades away again when Tony doesn’t make any moves. He shifts until he’s crouched in what Tony’s mentally calling his Spidey Squat. Far enough out to check out what’s going on but poised for a quick retreat if needed.

“Take all the time you need, kid,” Tony encourages. “I totally get it. When I got kidnapped in Afghanistan… I was scared out of my freakin’ mind. Every day I thought ‘today is the day I die and nobody will even care.’ Yinsen, this beta doctor they kidnapped, was the only thing keeping me together. He kept telling me we’d escape.”

He sends the email off to Pepper and pauses. He doesn’t think about Yinsen too often. It makes him too sad. He does steadily send money to Yinsen’s village, though. It’s another tally on the long list of ‘the least he can do.’

“After Yinsen died,” Tony continues, “I escaped, but I was scared and sick and angry… so damn angry… wandering the desert, alone, lost, confused. By the time they found me, I was half-feral.”

Rhodey had been the one to find him. He’d called in every marker he was owed to find Tony because he had that much faith in Tony and his ability to survive, because their friendship meant that much to him…

“When I got back I couldn’t sleep, didn’t feel like eating. I just wanted to make sure nothing like that could ever happen again. That I would never be alone and vulnerable like that. It was part of the reason I created JARVIS. He would never leave me, would always be there to talk to me, to listen.”

Which is why he’d taken Ultron so hard. Ultron murdered his best friend.

“So yeah, I get it. You take all the time you need.”

Tony stands. His time is up. Peter’s alpha scent sharpens, but he doesn’t growl which Tony decides is progress. Tony again tells Peter he’s safe and that he’ll return tomorrow.

* * *

A handful of days later, Peter stops growling when Tony comes into the room. He still doesn’t come out of his safe space, but he’s not actively warning Tony off. Tony sits and talks, about how he programmed JARVIS, how Dum-E was the first prototype and is aptly named since he’s dumb as a mobile toaster but Tony still loves him for being the first. He’s going on about the first time he took apart a television to see if there were tiny people inside and how Howard flipped out about it when he realizes that Peter’s left his burrow and has made it half way across the room without Tony realizing.

Tony keeps talking even though he’s lost the thread of the story, taking slow, deliberate breaths and focusing hard on his StarkPad, determined not to startle Peter in any way.

About a foot away, Peter sniffs sharply… He’s trying to scent Tony. Barely daring to breathe, Tony lets him. This could be it. This could be their break through.

After a big inhale, Peter’s brow wrinkles and he gets… not upset… Maybe confused? The confusion lasts a few seconds before he eyebrows drop into a furrow and he’s growling and backing away again.

Tony blinks hard and fast, but doesn’t move, not wanting to startle Peter. What just happened? His brain scrambles to figure out what went wrong, but no solution immediately stands out. Except… Maybe? A thought itches at the back of his brain.

Once Peter’s back in his hidey hole, Tony stands, forces himself not to speed through his normal promise to return, and he’s out the door and headed to the elevator to consult his resident feral/ alpha experts. He has a theory he needs to test.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Tony's often injures his left arm in the movies. Although RDJ is a righty, Tony Stark is canonically a lefty which means it would be the hand he thrusts out to break a fall. He first hurts it in the original Iron Man. It's re-injured in the airport brawl. Even when it's not injured, Tony tends to favor it, cradling it to his body when he's stressed. My thought in crafting the dream was that Tony destroyed Bucky's left arm and he's subconsciously afraid Bucky will return the favor.


	8. Chapter 8

Tony breezes into Steve and Barnes’ apartment seconds after FRIDAY announces his presence.

“What do I smell like?”

“Bad decisions,” Barnes answers over his shoulder, immediately and gleefully like he’d been waiting months for the opportunity to say it.

Steve barely smothers a laugh and continues slicing tomatoes next to a bowl of lettuce. 

Tony rounds the built-in breakfast bar into the kitchen where Barnes is stirring a pot of something at the stove and Steve is prepping a salad on the island in the middle of the kitchen. Savory smells saturate the room: tomato, cheese, Italian spice, garlic, parmesan, and fresh, baked bread—although that might be Steve who looks pretty content right now. Children of the Depression, Cap and Barnes both put a lot of effort into meals when they’re both in a stable enough place to enjoy them. They trend towards comfort foods that remind them of their childhoods, spruced up versions of cheap recipes that are easy to make in massive quantities. It smells fantastic and makes Tony’s mouth water, reminding him that he again forgot to eat.

Steve scoops up the tomato wedges and drops them in the bowl before starting in on a cucumber. “You know, what happens if _you’re_ secretly the HYDRA mole and you don’t even know it? FRIDAY lets you into our apartment anytime you want even when we’ve specifically asked her not to. Not that I’m saying you are, but if you were, who would HYDRA want to kill in their sleep more than the two of us?”

Tony blinks, completely knocked off his train of thought. Okay, maybe he’s being a little rude, dropping in on them without warning, but he’s completely safe. He would never try to hurt them… except that he already had.

“FRIDAY has emergency protocols,” he admits slowly. “If I intentionally injure anyone and her algorithms can’t figure out what might’ve provoked me, I lose access to overrides and the rest of the team is alerted.”

“That would be the non-Rogue Avengers, right?” Barnes asks as he stirs. “Which in this building is who? You and spider kid?”

Tony frowns, not sure he much cares for Barnes questioning his allegiance particularly given the seas of blood Barnes has spilled in the name of HYDRA. Then again, maybe that’s why he asks. He more than anyone knows the danger of hidden triggers and assuming that someone couldn’t possibly be a double agent. More than one of the Winter Soldier’s HYDRA handlers had also been highly decorated, seemingly loyal SHIELD agents.

“Pepper would be alerted, too,” Tony informs them. “If I was really in trouble, she knows what to do. And I would _never_ hurt her. Ever. No matter what was wrong with my brain. I’d die first. You two should understand that.”

Cap nods, dumping the cucumbers slices into the bowl. “We do.”

He puts down his utility knife and wipes his hands on the tea towel tucked into his front pocket. “Seriously, I appreciate you letting us stay here. I really do. You didn’t have to let us and nobody would’ve blamed you if you didn’t. But this constant barging in... I know your flare for the dramatic is really important to you, but I honestly don’t know how either of us would react if you barreled in unannounced while we were doing more than watching TV or cooking dinner. Can we agree it probably wouldn’t be pretty?”

Tony immediately feels compelled to comply. It’s the firmness in Steve’s voice, an extra push that a lot of people refer to as ‘Alpha’s Voice.’ Tony researched it, driven by a deep hatred of the very idea of an alpha-endowed biological control, enough to know it’s really just intense body language combined with natural pheromones. Steve’s not actually doing anything but making a request, but that tone still makes him feel called to the carpet.

Tony clears his throat and rubs the fingers of his right hand across the back of his left hand, a nervous tick he picked up years ago. “Uh, yeah. Sorry. I forget… I get on a roll and so wrapped up in what I’m focused on I forget that other people have other things going on. Sorry.”

“No worries. We’re good,” Steve says and reaches into a cabinet for plates. “So are you having a hygiene problem or what?”

“Wha- Oh!” Tony laughs, remembering why he’d come up here to begin with. “Cap, I need you to scent me.”

Steve’s head lolls back and he laughs, exasperated. Barnes snorts, lips pressed tightly closed.

“Of course, you do...” Steve mumbles to no one in particular.

They exchange a silent, somewhat amused look that Tony can’t read.

Steve takes a deep pensive breath and leans a hip against the counter, folding his arms across his chest. “Is this for the kid? Because I’ll be honest. I know the modern world is loosey goosey with this stuff but I’ve never scented anyone I was related to by blood or eventually by bond. It’s not something I do for kicks.”

Tony sobers and it really registers, the depths of what he’s asking. “It’s for the kid. He tried to scent me today and something about it freaked him out. But whatever it is doesn’t bother Pepper or any of the beta staff. I’m thinking it might be something only alphas can pick up?”

Steve’s mouth scrunches up and he looks at Barnes who looks less amused now but simply shrugs. Steve sighs and stands up straight. “Fine. Come here.”

Tony crosses the kitchen to stand directly in front of Steve. He starts to extend his arm but pauses. “Wait. Is the terminator going to rip my face off if you do this?”

“Probably not,” Barnes drawls, now having turned around and leaned against the counter to watch the proceedings.

Cap rolls his eyes and grabs Tony’s arm, lifting his wrist high enough for Steve to inhale against his scent gland. After taking a deep sniff, Steve lets go and pulls back. His face slowly creases into the same confused look Peter had worn and his eyes cast about like he’s trying to recall something that just won’t come to him.

“I don’t—wait, come here,” Steve says and pulls him closer. A rough hand tilts his chin and he nearly squeaks when he feels Steve’s nose graze across the scent gland on his throat. His skin prickles when Steve draws in a deep breath. Tony’s been scented by dozens of people in his long playboy history but being scented by Captain America for science has got to be the hands down most skin-crawlingly awkward and uncomfortable.

Steve makes a face and lets Tony pull away. He works his mouth like there’s something nasty on his tongue. “You’re using suppressants, aren’t you?”

Tony runs a hand over the back of his neck and down his arms, smoothing away the gooseflesh. “Yeah. For safety, his _and_ mine. My scent got him too worked up. And feral alphas have been known to attack omegas.”

“That’s why he’s so confused,” Steve says with a hum. “You normally smell like... cherries?”

Tony frowns. “Yeah.”

“Well, right now you smell very muted and bitter. Like cherry-flavored cough medicine.”

“It's not you. It’s the suppressant,” Barnes says, shifting from his resting post and easing into Steve’s personal space, smoothly inserting himself between Steve and Tony. “The chemicals in your scent are telling his lizard brain that something’s not right about you. He’s not going to trust you until he figures it out what it is or it changes.”

“But it’s _suppressants_. Everybody knows that.”

“Actually, no,” Steve says, tilting his head up as Barnes nuzzles into him. “He probably doesn’t. Same way, he probably doesn’t know what real omega slick feels or smells or tastes like. Think about how much you knew about birth control when you were fifteen.”

Tony smirks. He’d known far more than Howard would’ve liked.

“Well, not you,” Steve corrects. He pulls Barnes’ wrist up to his nose and inhales deeply. “Most people his age have heard about sex stuff but haven’t personally experienced it. And if he doesn’t recognize the smell, his brain just marks it as ‘danger.’ The fact that he’s trying to scent you at all is promising.”

 “I wonder why it didn’t bother Pepper?” Tony asks as he sniffs subtly. Burnt almonds and warm bread stand out over all the other smells in the kitchen. Apparently, _somebody_ wasn’t as okay with this as he’s pretended to be.

“Is it one of those fast-acting kinds?” Steve asks, wrapping his arms around Barnes who is visibly getting a bit antsy.

Tony nods. “Starts working in fifteen minutes, last for up to four hours.”

“And have you been around Pepper within that four hours?”

Tony thinks and then frowns. “Actually, no.”

“Well, there’s your answer,” Barnes says sharply, ‘duh’ dripping from his voice, the actual words muffled because his mouth is pressed against Steve’s neck.

Tony chokes back a laugh, barely. Steve, Mr. Modesty himself, would probably burst from blushing if he realized he and Barnes are scent-marking each other in public or semi-public or whatever their kitchen in front of Tony is. Then again, he should just be glad Barnes is focusing on re-marking his territory instead of attacking. Tony knows he wouldn’t exactly be pleased if he had to watch Pepper and Happy scent each other no matter how altruistic the reason, so he can’t fault Barnes’ instincts.

Still, when Barnes pulls Steve into an open-mouth kiss and his hand starts creeping towards Steve’s waistband, Tony pulls up stakes.

“Just so you know,” he calls out as he leaves, “if you tell FRIDAY to engage Protocol Nesting, you get an hour where no one can interrupt you unless the world is literally ending.”

There's no answer. Not that he was expecting one.

As he’s boarding the elevator, he tells FRIDAY to remind them again whenever they’re done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun(-ish) fact: In the Marvel Earth-616 Universe, Pepper and Happy meet while working as Tony's secretary and bodyguard respectively at Stark Solutions. They fall in love, marry, and work for Tony off and on until Happy dies protecting Tony from Spymaster who opposed Tony’s proposed Superhuman Registration Act.
> 
> -Also, Happy 100th Birthday, Captain America! #StarSpangledBirthday


	9. Chapter 9

With Dr. Eshmun's blessing,Tony continues his daily visits but extends them to an hour now that Peter’s no longer openly hostile to Tony’s presence. The first time he stays past the thirty-minute mark, Peter notices. He doesn’t say anything, of course, but at around thirty-five minutes, the air takes on a scent halfway between leather and tires, as though Peter’s unsure how he should feel or react. But he doesn’t growl, so it’s a gold star in Tony’s book. He makes a mental note for Dr. Eshmun. There’s no clock in the room so Peter’s notice implies he has some awareness of what Tony’s doing.

Encouraged,Tony carries on. He still talks for the first twenty or so minutes, about interesting news, sometimes about a funny email request he received or a pg-13 version of a memory from prep school or college. After he’s talked out, he switches to _BrainStuff_ , an amusing podcast he found. The episodes are only a few minutes long with really random topics like ‘Why do Dogs Tilt Their Heads’ and ‘Why are Some People Afraid of Clowns,’ making them easy to listen to back to back, one after the other. Other topics like ‘How do microwaves work’ are still entertaining even if Tony already knows the answers and a dozen more scientifically accurate ways to explain it.

Over time, he relaxes and he’s sure his scent reflects it. Stopping the suppressant was an easy and obvious fix-it, so much so that it strikes Tony as absurdly inane, something he should've realized on his own much sooner. It’s not as though it’s any great sacrifice. Scents are an evolutionary, cathartic outlet and suppressing his, even for a few hours, made Tony feel out of sorts anyway. Now, he’s better focused, more centered. The fact that skipping the suppressants is actually in Peter’s best interest makes the decision all the easier.

Three more days pass before Peter tries to scent Tony again. When he does, his shoulders slump in relief so visible Tony kind of wants to kick himself. Peter inhales deeply a second time then does a little wiggle before he stretches out on the floor next to Tony, just out of arm’s reach. He stays there, listening to the podcast until it ends and Tony starts shuffling, preparing to stand, at which point Peter scooches back towards the wall and the safety of his hidey hole. Tony calmly promises to return and leaves. Back in his own room, he’s so excited he can barely contain himself, but makes do with a fist pump, a quick email to Dr. Eshmun, and a text to Cap thanking him for his help.

After they run through all of _BrainStuff,_ Tony switches to _Ask Me Another,_ a trivia gameshow-styled podcast featuring several fast-paced rounds with contestants in front of a live audience capped off with a celebrity round at the end. The questions change format every round and rely on pop culture knowledge combined with word play rather than rote memorization of facts which makes it an enjoyable mental challenge for Tony. Plus, a healthy chunk of the celebrities are people Tony’s met--or partied with--which spawns stories for him to share with Peter.

With the passing days, Tony lulls himself in the comfort of their routine. Tony genuinely enjoys the time together even if Peter mostly ignores him. He’s talked about stuff—happy, fun stuff—he hasn’t thought about in years. Meeting and becoming friends with Rhodey, how he knew Pepper was the one, the excitement he felt the first time JARVIS spoke to him. It's sort of therapeutic. So much of his time is dedicated to putting out corporate and global fires he doesn’t always have time to appreciate the good times interspersed throughout the years. Having to censor for Peter lets him focus on those positive parts.

On day fifteen of their visits, they’re listening to another episode of _Ask Me Another._ This round is about changing a single letter of an Oscar-nominated movie to answer a riddle: _A U.S. Iraq War veteran explosive expert is sent to Asia to build Mongolian storage units._ Tony knows the movie is _The Hurt Locker,_ but he’s stomped on which letter to change. He’s puzzling over it in his mind when an unexpected touch to his knee surprises him, makes him look down. Peter has slowly stretched until his hand rests on Tony. His gaze, timid and unsure, wordlessly asks permission, the first meaningful eye contact he’s made in weeks. Rather than answering, Tony smiles softly at the boy and gives a single nod before he goes back to guessing answers. Peter relaxes and stays there for the rest of the podcast. When the show ends and Tony shifts to move, he simply sits up, pulls his knees to his chest and watches Tony rather than retreating to his burrow of mats.

Back in his room, Tony allows himself a shaky grin as he shoots another email to Dr. Eshmun.

* * *

The next day, Tony tells Peter about how he and his college roommate designed jet powered rollerblades capable of getting up to sixty miles per hour. Theoretically, anyway. They were never able to prove it. As he's going into how they were trying to bribe freshies into testing them, Peter moves.

He shifts until his head is pillowed on Tony’s thigh. Tony can't see his face--Peter’s facing away--but he can feel the tension in the boy’s body, the trembling anticipation of rejection. Throat tightening, Tony forces himself to keep talking, rambling about dumbass Tim Gressman and how he broke both arms and several windows in the commons testing the rollerblades and nearly got them all expelled. As he talks, he slowly reaches down and touches Peter’s head, softly combs his fingers through the kid’s hair the way Tony’s mom used to do for him. It’s not long before Peter slumps into the touch and his breathing slows, deepens, and he’s asleep, the smell of warm leather floating in the air.

Two hours later, Tony’s still sitting there. His butt and legs fell asleep long ago and there’s going to be a pins-and-needles hell to pay. But it’s a small price for how peaceful it all is so he stays until Peter stirs. Once he’s really awake, his face pinkens and a hint of rubber sneaks into the leather before he skitters a few feet away. Actively choosing not to reign in his own content scent of cherry tarts, Tony clambers to his feet, ignoring the ache of blood returning to numb limbs, as though nothing is out of the ordinary, promising to return the next day.

Like the podcast and Tony’s email, the impromptu nap time becomes part of their routine. Peter will listen to Tony talk for ten or twenty minutes, all the while slowly edging towards him. Then he’ll slowly curl up to Tony and sleep. Eventually, a pillow and blanket join him. Combined with the dark smudges under the kid’s eyes, Tony begins to wonder if Peter is even sleeping at night.

He brings it up to Eshmun.

“It’s possible he’s not. It’s not uncommon for ferals, people with PTSD or kids separated from their families to develop insomnia. Peter’s all three. There are many factors that could contribute to sleep issues. Two possibilities,” she says as she ticks off a finger. “One, it might be fear-based. He might not feel safe when he’s alone with nobody he trusts to watch over him, so he waits until your visits to sleep. Or two, the touch-starvation I warned you about might be worsening. Research shows it’s comparable to physical hunger. It’s hard to sleep on an empty stomach so he might be using you as a touchstone to keep it at bay so he can rest.”

Both of those options sound unbearably sad.

“So what do we do?” Tony asks. “I mean, obviously sleep deficit’s not great for someone already struggling with feral.”

She nods. “He’s obviously establishing a bond with you. You make him feel safe enough to try to get whatever he’s lacking, safety or physical nearness or both. Even though you’re not technically his family, he finds you sufficiently nurturing that he looks towards you for comforting. Let’s see if we can’t use that to get Peter further along the road to recovery.”

Tony can feel his eyebrows lift. Of all the things he’s been called in his life, he’s pretty sure nurturing has never made the list. But for Peter, he’ll hum along, even if he doesn’t know the words to this particular song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact:  
> \- Iron Man rollerblades are an actual part of his arsenal in the early comics  
> -The Hurt Locker stars friendly face Jeremy Renner


	10. Chapter 10

Over the next week, Tony leaves a few scent-marked belongings behind in Peter’s room. First, he conveniently forgets to put his old MIT sweatshirt back on after deciding he was too warm. Then, he accidentally leaves that zip-up hoodie he wears when working in his lab. It needs to be replaced anyway. Pepper doesn’t say a word when Tony carries a cashmere throw everywhere he goes for an entire day before it disappears never again to be discussed. And since he now spends so much of the day with Peter, it only makes sense to move that oversized recliner he loafs around on into Peter’s room. Far more comfortable than sitting on the floor for hours and Peter’s stable enough that Tony is now back to spending the night upstairs with Pepper in his own bed. It’s no big deal if Peter’s wearing the hoodie and his pillows and blankets have migrated from his twin bed to the recliner the next time Tony shows up.

As an omega, he understands and sympathizes. He has natural nesting instincts, even if he only indulges them in the privacy of his and Pepper’s bedroom when he’s unusually stressed or extremely under the weather. Alphas don’t usually nest, but they are territorial and that includes being possessive of the people they’ve bonded with. Eshmun’s theory is that the scented items will give Peter a greater sense of safety and stability even when Tony’s not around, like swaddling a baby so it feels secure even when not being held.

Along with supplying materials for a pseudo-nest for Peter, Tony spruces up the room so it’s more like a living space and less like a containment cell. First, he adds a privacy curtain for the open bathroom corner of the room. Initially, the metal and wire of dividers were too great a risk, but it’s been nearly two weeks since Peter’s shown any true aggression and none of it’s ever been towards himself. Next, a soft shag rug since Peter seems to favor lying on the floor. Tony also makes a habit of always bringing Peter something to keep him entertained. If Peter has started to think more clearly, he needs something to keep that genius mind of his occupied. Tony lugs down a couple of buckets of his old Tinker Toys, K’Nex, and LEGOs that still entertain him on drearier days or when he’s brainstorming. He never actually sees Peter playing with them, but there are always spindly creations hiding in corners and on and around the bed and recliner. They’re pretty damned good, too.

“I’ve seen your grades, some of your projects,” Tony says, studying one that seems to be the beginnings of a death-defying rollercoaster. “The refurbished electronics, the upcycled inventions, hell, the mechanics of your webslingers and the formula for your webs. It’s impressive. If you’d been born into the resources I was, you’d already be a force to be reckoned with.”

Peter smiles blankly and perches on the arm of the recliner, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his head there.

The knobs of his knees press prominently against the material of the plaid pajama pants that replaced the all-white scrubs. Already gangly the way teenagers tend to be and naturally rangy, his cheeks have hollowed concerningly even though he seems to be eating the food Tony gives him. When Tony gets the chance, he calls Dr. Cho who connects him with a colleague of hers who specializes in nutrition. With his suggestions, Tony tweaks Peter’s diet, adding smoothies, protein shakes, and healthy fats that would still appeal to a teenager like cheese, nuts, and dark chocolate. Combined with the sleep, the kid starts to look healthier which is a great relief. However, Tony’s still worried. It’s been over a month since Peter reappeared, since they got him to the compound and helped him through his rut, and he still hasn’t said a word.

“The kid’s quieter than a church mouse,” Tony complains.

Dr. Eshmun, ever patient with Tony’s neurotic worry wart ways, simply nods. “Selective mutism isn’t uncommon in trauma survivors. Be patient, give him time. The best thing you can do is stay the course. Keep him safe and comfortable. He’ll talk when he’s ready.”

It’s a frustrating answer. Tony, a man of action, prefers tangible steps. But the good doctor has yet to lead him wrong.

On the plus side, the nesting works and Peter now stays awake during their time together. He still likes to keep close to Tony, though. Other than the awkward stutter start when they first start hanging out on the chair instead of the floor, it’s been a good experience. Peter’s contact style is a hilarious cross between a cat who doesn’t want Tony to know he likes the attention and a puppy who just can’t resist, like a moon sucked into a planet’s gravitational field. Tony has to remind himself not to laugh when Peter bundles as close to Tony as he can without actually being in Tony’s lap, pushing his forehead into Tony’s neck and forcibly draping Tony’s arm over his shoulder, seeking scent comfort after twenty minutes perched on the recliner’s arm completely ignoring Tony.

The whole experience is noticeably different from scenting with Pepper; obviously, there are no sexual or romantic undertones. But it’s also a reversal of how she sometimes holds him when he’s really stressed out, not sleeping well, and seeking comfort. If he lets his mind wander, a vague memory of something similar with Howard when Tony was maybe three or four tickles at the edge of his brain. Tony knows better than to poke at the tripwires around his daddy issues when he’s having an otherwise good day. He’s just thankful it’s nowhere near as awkward as being scented by Steve. The whole thing makes him painfully nostalgic for his mom, that sense of home and unconditional love, in a way he hasn’t in years. It creates a yearning that builds over several days until it almost feels like a physical ache, but he can’t quite put his thumb on what the problem is. He sure as shit doesn’t want to ask Dr. Eshmun, but he finally gives in and does a search with FRIDAY.

WebMD says it might be cancer. All the other results talk about biological clocks and declining fertility which equally reeks of bullshit. As an omega, Tony is capable of bearing kids but he’s never wanted to. In fact, he got his tubes tied and had the big snip done all in one day as a present to himself on his eighteenth birthday and he still firmly believes it was the right decision despite the overly pushy alpha doctor warning him he’d regret it. Despite the luxuries it afforded him, Tony wouldn’t wish his childhood on anyone. The loneliness, the pressure, the constant pain of disappointing and being disappointed. After he presented, pups seemed like a way to tether him, to force him into the tight little box of expected omega behaviors. Not having kids while thriving in multiple alpha-dominated fields was the ultimate ‘fuck you’ to the unspoken rules that have never made sense anyway. And now, with the added danger to anyone connected to Iron Man, there’s no room in his lifestyle for someone so vulnerable and dependent on him. Tony still doesn’t regret his choices and he wouldn’t change any of the decisions he’s made—the sober ones, anyway—but he might be starting to understand the appeal of being connected, of having a pack.

* * *

Things are going well, so inevitably the fragile peace shatters, requiring Avengers’ Intervention. The power vacuum on both sides of the law and the existence of opportunity invites opportunists. The government and local law enforcement are in much better shape than six months ago, but they’re nowhere near max efficiency so many ne’er-do-wells see it as a free-for-all.

“Boss, the Rockville City Police Department is requesting help with an attack at a biochemistry lab,” FRIDAY informs him before he can even finish his morning coffee. “They report multiple militant, enhanced humans attempting to access restricted areas of the building and the presence of biological contaminants. How should I respond?”

Tony quickly flicks through the attached footage and the links about the laboratory. “Tell ‘em we’re on our way. ETA twenty-five minutes. Put me through to Captain Rogers.”

“Yes, Boss.”

It only takes a few seconds for Steve to pop on the holo console.

“Rogers, we’re up. Enhanced humans in Maryland trying to get their grubby little mitts on bio-contaminants.”

Steve nods. “Okay, we’re on our way.”

Tony frowns. “We? Wait—”

But Steve has already disconnected.

Five minutes later, they’re all in the change out room in the hangar. All _three_ of them. Whether he likes it or not, Tony, Steve, and Bucky are the only Avengers and Avenger-adjacent in the D.C. area even if they only count the ones who survived The Cull. Natasha is still out looking for Clint and his family. Rhodey hung up his suit for good, taking his third near death experience in as many years as a sign. Saying they’re short-handed would be a generous understatement.

Tony bites his tongue to keep from shuddering at the sight of Barnes in his black tactical kit.

“Are we seriously taking T-1000 with us?” Tony asks sharply.

Not even the lack of mask and goggles helps since Barnes wasn’t wearing either when he peered into the surveillance camera after beating Howard to death or when he and Cap had teamed up against Tony, leaving him battered and stranded in Siberia.

“You know another world class sniper familiar with our fighting style and strong enough to take on enhanced humans if need be?” Steve calmly asks back even though he’s probably tired of arguing over Bucky and has asked Tony a thousand times to stop calling Barnes names.

“And available right now,” Barnes adds.

“I don’t trust him,” Tony says plainly, speaking to Steve rather than acknowledging Barnes directly.

Steve clips his shield on his back and straps on his mask. “Well, I do and it doesn’t make sense to go in undermanned when we’re already going to be outnumbered and possibly outgunned. If he doesn’t come with us, that makes you our only flyer, our only gun, the lookout, _and_ perimeter control. Think you can handle all that and troubleshoot anything crazy that happens, like the bomb these guys always inevitably seem to have?”

Tony grinds his teeth. Damn Steve and his stupid logic. “Fine. But if Manchurian Candidate snipes me, I’m going to come back and haunt you for the rest of your preternaturally long life.”

Since it’s only the three of them, they don’t bother with the quinjet. Tony flies off in his suit to do initial surveillance. Ten minutes later, Cap roars up on his motorcycle with Barnes riding back warmer.

“What do we got?” Steve asks, booting the kickstand on his bike after they climb off.

Tony pulls up the pictures from his flyover. “Looks like a splinter cell of A.I.M., the same jackasses you guys were dealing with in Lagos. I have fifteen heat signatures, but the lab's not sure how many employees had already reported to work or how many were able to escape.”

“Great,” Cap mutters, unclipping his shield. “Let’s make sure this goes better than Lagos. Alright, I’m going through the front. I’ll take down as many hostiles as I can and free any civilians. Tony, anybody that comes out of this building needs to be ID’ed as friend or foe. Stop them or help them. Bucky, you’re our eyes in the sky, if he misses anyone or anybody looks like they’re getting the jump on either of us, take ‘em out. Lethal force only if necessary. Keep your ears open for audibles.”

“Got it,” Barnes clips sharply and heads off to find his vantage point.

Steve heads in, the battering ram of the operation. Tony zips around, prepared to be mobile containment, faster than any hostile runners can escape scoop and run civilians to safety. Barnes has climbed another building to find the stationary high ground as their spotter and sniper on the roof, watching both of their backs.

“FRIDAY, keep eyes on Barnes,” Stark murmurs softly. “Let me know if he gets too twitchy.”

“Got it, Boss,” she replies.

While he can put his personal feelings aside and fall into the easy rhythm of fighting alongside Cap, trying to ignore his gut instincts while Barnes is holding a weapon with armor-piercing rounds in his blind spot is like nails on a chalkboard. His paranoia keeps him so tensely wired the sharp vinaigrette of his anxiety is giving him a headache, unable to flow freely due to seals on his suit which are designed to keep his pheromones in and the potentially influential pheromones of others out.

But in the end, it all goes fairly smoothly. There was no bomb and Cap is able to flush out the hostiles, incapacitating most of them before they can get to the bio-contaminants or escape the building. The enhancements are mainly super strength and the illegal alien-tech the Department of Containment is still working to get off the streets so it wasn’t as difficult as anticipated. Two morons try to use employees as human shields only to be taken out with extreme prejudice by Barnes’ deadeye aim. Tony zips the now-free hostages to the paramedics outside of their perimeter. Cap sweeps the building once more before turning it over to the CDC.

“Great job,” Steve says when Tony hovers down to meet them.

He pops his faceplate open, overheating from all the exertion.

Steve and Barnes both take a weary step back, fanning a hand in front of their face.

“Stark, I know there’s nothing I can really say,” Barnes offers hesitantly. “But I… I promise I don’t want to hurt you,”

“Oh. So you _did_ want to hurt my parents?” Tony snaps, nerves frayed.

Bucky pulls back, looking like a puppy that’s been kicked and the sharp smell of burning almond wood swiftly pricks at Tony’s nose. Tony nearly hisses in anger. The very _audacity_ of him having the nerve to look _hurt_ makes Tony seethe. He snaps his faceplate back down.

“Tony—” Steve starts.

But whatever he says is lost to the boom of his repulsors as Tony lifts off, flying fast back to the compound.

* * *

As soon as Tony lands, he strips out of his armor. His mind races furiously and his fingers tingle, but he’s already an hour late for his visitation with Peter. He takes a quick shower hoping it will help him decompress, but afterwards tension still burns through his body.

"My kingdom for a rum and coke," he mumbles halfheartedly to himself. He doesn't mean it. Not really. He gave that up a long time ago, in exchange for a beta that loves him more than anything.

Outside of Peter’s room, he takes a slow, centering breath. He can’t let his mood to rub off on the kid. He considers taking a suppressant but decides against it. It would probably be easier to soothe any reactions to his natural scent than to deal with a setback if the suppressant made Peter aggressive again.

Stepping, he’s greeted by the smell of heated rubber. Apparently, _everybody_ is in a mood today. Peter sits up from where he’s perched on the recliner, his face twisted in a mixture of worry and cautious relief. But when Peter sniffs, the relief fades and apprehension clouds over his features. A high-pitched whine leaks out of his throat.

“I’m fine,” Tony reassures him as he approaches the recliner. “Scooch over.”

He flops down and it doesn’t take long before Peter is stuck to his side. The smell of leather grows and swells and confuses Tony for a moment before he realizes what’s going on.

 _Peter_ is trying to soothe _him._

“You’re a good egg, Webster,” Tony murmurs, shifting to sling his arm over Peter’s shoulder. “I’m fine. Really. You can relax.”

And after a while, it becomes the truth.

He taps his holo console and starts the next episode of their podcast. By the end of the episode, the room smells of leather seats and cherry pie.

Soon Tony realizes Peter’s yawning. He scoots out of his space and lets Peter take over the recliner. The kid’s fighting a losing battle against the sleep. Because of the brouhaha from earlier, Tony’d arrived later meaning Peter’s up later than usual and he’s already got a deficit.

Tony eases Peter across the seat of the chair. Grabbing a blanket, he tucks him in. He’s always struck by how peaceful Peter looks while sleeping. He runs his fingers through Peter’s hair one more time before silently tiptoeing away.

He’s already flipped the lights and is heading out of the door when a raspy sound stops him.

“’Sorry you had a bad day.”

Tony turns and looks back into the darkness of the room, his heart racing with joy at a voice he hasn’t heard in nearly six months. Who would’ve expected a cracking, hoarse voice to sound sweeter than the Hallelujah Chorus?

Swallowing hard against burning eyes and the lump in his throat, Tony lets a slow grin creep across his face. “It just got a lot better. Sweet dreams, Spinderella.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -A mega chapter for the weekend! That's it 'til Monday. I'm off to see Ant-Man and the Wasp!


	11. Chapter 11

Peter’s rasped words of comfort aren’t some magical watershed that snaps him back to being a chatterbox. But they do seem to mark a point where he’s comfortable enough to say a few words here and there. However, Tony learns the hard way that progress is mercurial.

“What do you need, Webby?” he asks, feigning ignorance as Peter clearly motions for the blue connector piece that’s half-buried under Tony’s foot in the rug.

Peter’s fingers are pinching together four K’Nex rods that are the apex of that rollercoaster he’s been working on slowly but surely over the few days. If he lets go before securing the pieces, the whole thing will fall apart which would be a shame. It’s an impressive, colorful 3-D display of climbs and dips, crafted out of gears, connectors and rods, functional proof that Peter genuinely deserved his space at the prestigious STEM program he attends.

Not yet on to Tony’s ruse, Peter motions again with his head, looking pointedly at the piece.

“C’mon. Use your words. Tell me what you need and it’s yours,” Tony teases.

Peter’s eyes snap from the piece he wanted up to look directly at Tony. He hardens his stare and clenches his jaw. His mouth pinches in that froggy way it does when he’s upset. Tony expects the sharp smell of tar to quickly follow. He’s wrong. In hindsight, he probably would have preferred it.

Instead, Peter releases the pieces and stands abruptly, letting the whole thing collapse in a tinkering clatter. Wordlessly, he steps over the mess and climbs onto his bed, scooting all the way to the wall, his back turned against the room.

“Hey, I was just messing around,” Tony says, trying to apologize but Peter ignores him.

Eventually, every time Tony approaches or tries to talk to him, he growls, low and angry, until Tony gives up and leaves, promising to come back tomorrow.

Dr. Eshmun doesn’t roll her eyes when Tony tells her about it the next morning. She’s actually quite professional about it.

“So to recap: When I told you to be patient and you were patient, Peter spoke when he was ready. When you got impatient and tried to pressure him, he got angry and refused to speak. Did I summarize that correctly?”

“Well, when you put it like that…” Tony says, rolling his eyes because he’s never once claimed to be professional.

The next visit, they’re back to listening to their podcast with Tony sitting on the floor and Peter lounging just inside of his newly re-constructed hidey hole. He doesn’t talk or try to scent Tony and he completely ignores the gigantic, brand-new snap circuits kit Tony brings him. It’s head bangingly frustrating after all the progress they’d made, but he doesn’t push, accepts it as his penance for avarice.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says right before leaving. “I didn’t mean to rush you. I just got excited. Full-speed ahead’s kinda my style, you know? What I said still stands. Take all the time you need. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

The next day, when Tony opens the door, Peter is perched on the recliner, fiddling with the snap circuit board.

* * *

After five more consecutive days of positive progress reports, Dr. Eshmun requests to meet Peter herself.

Never shy about his opinions, Tony expresses his apprehension.

“Are you sure about this, Doc? I mean, I tell you everything he does. What’s wrong with that?”

She tilts her head, first one way then the other as though tossing the idea around in her mind. “In the short term, nothing. But in the long run, sheltering Peter from all outside contact will create an unhealthy dependency where Peter relies on you to filter out all the things that frighten him. When we first spoke, we set a goal of self-care for Peter. That would include being an active part of his own treatment. How can he if he’s never met his doctor?”

Loathe to admit she has a point, Tony sighs. “He threw a fit because I tried to get him to say the name of K’NEX part. How’s he going to respond to a whole new person?”

“I understand,” she says not unkindly. “But it’s been it’s been six weeks since we pulled the beta staff. Six weeks. With you as his sole contact to the outside world. If the goal is re-integration, we’re going to have to slowly start expanding. A feral cat who has one person he’s willing to tolerate in order to get food and the occasional cuddle is still a feral cat.”

Against Tony’s own misgivings, they agree to schedule Dr. Eshmun’s visit for the last twenty minutes of Tony’s next visit.

It’s pretty much the disaster Tony expected. The scared and betrayed look Peter gives Tony when the door unlatches and Dr. Eshmun steps in nearly physically hurts Tony.

“Peter, this is my friend. She’s not here to hurt you.”

Which is the exact wrong thing to say because if Tony had thought about it for even a second, he’d have remembered that’s exactly what he’s always said about the betas who show up to sedate him and contaminate the scents of his den.

Peter scuttles backwards in a creepily solid imitation of an actual spider and holes up in his safe space, growling low and warning, the scent of burning rubber thick in the air. But rather than try to coax him out, Dr. Eshmun sits on the floor in the middle of the room, looking every bit the college student in her jeans, t-shirt, and converse sneakers, encouraging Tony to join her. She calmly introduces herself to Tony as though he hasn’t known her for weeks and talks about herself. It’s all very ‘My name is Tony. I’m a Gemini and I like long walks on the beach,’ but Tony plays along. When their time is up, she stands and walks to the door.

“It was very nice to meet you, Peter,” she says with a friendly smile that actually reaches her eyes. “I will _not_ be back tomorrow. From now on, Tony will warn you at the beginning of the session if you’re going to see me that day. I look forward to working with you.”

And as Tony feared, it causes a temporary setback where Peter refuses to talk and hangs out in the safety of his hidey hole even after Tony assures him Dr. Eshmun won’t be joining them today. After three visits in five days from the good doctor, that Tony pre-warns Peter about, he’s still not talking. However, Dr. Eshmun perseveres and continues to radiate a calm, neutral energy, conversing with Tony about benign topics.

Tony suspects she’s a gamma, the rare individual who displays no secondary designation traits. They’re fundamentally betas but lack the ability to emit or pick up on pheromones and are physically sterile. Their lack of the pheromone survival trait and inability to reproduce make them the rare, the albino of designations. The only other gamma he’s ever met is Bruce, who despite presenting beta, became a gamma when the radiation rearranged his DNA and created the Hulk. Bruce once confided that’s what makes him hate the Other Guy the most; he stole Bruce’s ability to communicate, to belong, to have a pack.

“How did a gamma end up as a trauma therapist?” Tony asks during one of their sessions once he can no longer contain his curiosity.

“I think it actually makes me better at it,” she answers with a mischievous smile. “There are no cheats. Not being able to detect scents made me learn to take in everything else, to really listen and watch in order to understand what people meant instead of what they said.”

Eventually, Peter seems to accept that Dr. Eshmun never shows up without notice and she doesn’t bother him if he’s in his safe space. He still refuses to speak to Eshmun but he finally emerges and sits with her. Over the course of two visits, with the aid of head shakes and nods, hand gestures, and activity picture cards, the two set a few goals that seem to satisfy them both.

Later, Eshmun and Tony meet to discuss how they can begin baby stepping Peter towards his goals. One that Peter had seemed particularly reactive to was going out to eat. Teenaged boys and food. Who would’ve guessed?

“It clearly appeals to him and fits both our goals of getting him eating normally and providing social interactions,” Eshmun points out. “Plus, it’s easy to simulate. Your mate, Ms. Potts, Captain Rogers, and Sergeant Barnes all have clearance and the ability to physically protect themselves if he has a bad reaction. Have dinner together, like a practice run. It would be—"

“No,” Tony says sharply.

“I’m sorry?” she asks, frowning slightly.

“Peter can’t be around Barnes.”

She blinks thoughtfully for a moment. “Can’t? How do you define ‘can’t?’”

Tony mentally scrambles, but his brain is freaking out at the thought of Peter and Barnes in the same room. His thoughts are like a racoon with a string of cans tied to its tail set loose in an antique shop.

“ _Can’t._ Barnes said so himself. He can’t handle aggressive alphas.”

“Okay. Well, I didn’t mean immediately. We would need Sergeant Barnes’ agreement and we’d build up to it. But I honestly think it would be very beneficial for Peter. It would give him a chance to be around a small crowd of alphas, betas, and omegas.”

Tony tries to be reasonable, but that racoon is still running around knocking shit off the shelves.

“Sargent Barnes might even be able to help Peter. He  _is_ the only other person here who knows exactly what being caught in The Cull feels like. If they could talk, itmighthelppeterprocessdahkehfah…”

Dr. Eshmun’s voice fades into a Charlie Brown-esque whomp whomp whompwhomp. Tony can’t keep up anymore. He’s distracted by the sharp pain shooting up his left arm and his lungs are burning for air. He looks desperately at the doctor who's now standing, staring at him in concern. As he gasps in vain, black dots begin to fill his vision until he can’t see. A firm pressure to the back of his head and the middle of his back encourages his him to fold over and he ends up with his head between his knees.

“…lax. You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you. Deep, slow breaths. In and out” Eshmun encourages, her voice soothing and zen in stark contrast to the freaked out mess he’s melted into.

After several long, dizzying minutes, he sits up, unbelievably embarrassed.

“Wow. I haven’t had one of those in a really long time,” he says quietly.

Dr. Eshmun nods in acknowledgment and retakes her seat. “Can I ask what upsets you about Sergeant Barnes?”

Tony almost does a double take before he remembers that Barnes’ orders had come from the underbelly of HYDRA not a surface-level SHIELD. It wouldn’t have been in the leaked files. Not even all the Avengers actually knew what had _really_ happened to Tony’s parents. To the average person, Tony’s hatred towards Barnes’ seems completely unwarranted, an overblown and perhaps jealous reaction to the return of Cap’s original point man.

Tony wants to tell her. If for no other reason than to see the shock. Most of the public knew Barnes had been brainwashed into being the ‘bad guy’ but public sentiment was generally sympathetic towards Cap’s best friend, particularly now that he often showed up fighting beside the good guys. If they only knew how deep it went. Eshmun would drop the whole thing. But then she’d want to dive into Tony’s feelings, help him ‘work through it’ which honestly sounds like hell to him.

Maybe he’s being selfish, not doing everything he can to protect Peter, but he can’t do it. HYDRA has stolen so much from him. He won’t let them steal his right to mourn as he sees fit.

“Nothing,” he says, trying to sound as if he believes his own words. “I guess I’m still sensitive about the whole fight over the Accords.”

She studies him as she weighs his words. “Is there anything, I might need to know that would suggest that despite his rehabilitation, Sargent Barnes might be a threat to Peter’s safety?”

Tony pushes out a deep breath and swallows against the sick. “No. I don’t… No.”

Eshmun doesn’t look like she entirely believes him, but she doesn’t press any further. “Okay, if everybody agrees, I was thinking of starting by just having Captain Rogers and Sargent Barnes spend half an hour with Peter every other day. If that goes well, we’ll have the dinner.”

Feeling sick to his stomach, Tony agrees to set it up.

* * *

That night after Tony startles awake from his third nightmare, Pepper turns on the bedside lamp and sits up.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” she asks, her face pinched with concern.

“Nothing,” he murmurs.

She gives him _that_ look. “’Nothing’ doesn’t smell like cherry vinaigrette and wake up yelping three times in one night.”

Tony sighs. “Eshmun wants me to let Barnes and Peter meet.”

“Oh” Pepper murmurs. She shifts and drapes herself over Tony. The smell of gingerbread floats through the air. “And you didn’t tell her why you don’t want them to.”

“No. But Barnes is a nut job. He said it himself, he doesn’t do well around aggressive alphas. What if Peter triggers him and he goes _Total Recall_ on us?”

Pepper kisses his forehead and rubs the scent glands on her wrist across his mouth before settling her head into the nook of his neck. “He’s been living here peacefully for months. People change, Tony. If anybody should know that…”

Tony shifts so he can see her face. “Has he _actually_ changed?”

“Probably not,” Pepper admits to his surprise. “But James is not who you’re mad at. The Winter Soldier doesn’t live here, babe. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, the World’s Longest Surviving Prisoner of War does.”

Tony clenches his teeth. “You know, I am _really_ tired of hearing about poor, pitiful, prisoner of war Bucky Barnes.”

Pepper sighs and looks at him sympathetically. “Not as tired as he is of living it, I’d bet. The Winter Soldier is not something he chose to do. It was done _to_ him.”

Neither of them speaks for a long moment.

“And I’m just supposed to get over it?” he asks quietly.

She shakes her head. “I would never say that. I would never even  _think_ that. I’m Team Tony, always and forever. I just want you to be happy and until you can work through this thing with Sargent Barnes, you’re never going to be. Maybe this can be the beginning of you getting your life back.”

Pepper kisses him, turns the lamp off, and holds him, trying to soothe him back to sleep.

But Tony’s mind keeps replaying that grainy video where ‘Sergeant Barnes?’ is the last thing his father ever says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: To figure out Peter's re-integration goals, I researched and combined how to domesticate feral animals and how to treat agoraphobia.


	12. Chapter 12

Tony piddles around in his lab for most of the morning. He tinkers around with the holo display, simulating ideas for his suit that have been buzzing around his head for a while. It might be nice if the suit could create an oxygen supply. Tanks are an unnecessary weight on a day to day basis, but he’s accidentally ended up in space twice now. Might be nice to be able to breathe when that happens.

“FRIDAY, run a search on chemical oxygen generators.”

“Displaying now, Boss,” she replies nearly instantaneously.

He studies the search results and spends half an hour examining airline emergency oxygen systems. The oxidizer core looks doable, but he’s not sure about the potassium perchlorate. It only represents one percent of the chemical combination for the oxidizer core, but it’s flammable, the same stuff they use in fireworks. Tony tags it as a possibility and also makes a note to investigate how the chemicals would react to the energy and heat of the arc reactor.

He’s trying to decide if he should create self-cleaning paints for the suits when his holo buzzes.

“A message from Miss Potts, Boss,” FRIDAY’s informs him.

“Read it out,” he says as he looks over FRIDAY’s search results about car manufacturers’ paint attempts.

“Have you spoken with S&B yet? End message.”

Tony huffs and flicks a finger across the holo to go to the next page of results. “Compose Reply: Not yet. Busy in lab. Send reply.”

A mechanical blurp assures him FRIDAY did as asked. Dissatisfied with the paint results, Tony switches over to the Hulk Buster containment pods. Gammas don’t produce pheromones and can’t detect scents…

“FRIDAY, are Gammas soothed by pheromones?”

“Research indicates that Gammas are unaffected by pheromones, Boss.”

Well, shit. There goes his idea for how to improve his containment pods. Natasha has always been able to soothe the Big Guy. He’d thought maybe it was her pheromones. Not that anybody knows her designation for sure. She stringently follows a regiment of suppressants so her scent can’t give her away. About twice a year, she goes off the grid for either heat or rut. Clint probably knows, but he also knows better than to tell, and as pushy as he can be, Tony’s afraid of what she’ll do if she catches him trying to find out.

“FRIDAY, compose message to Natasha: Legolas and crew? Here to help. Send message.”

“Message sent. Reply from Miss Potts.”

Tony sighs. Pepper replying this quickly is rarely a good thing. “Read it out.”

“Please tell me you’re not holed up in your lab working on your suits. End message.”

Tony pauses for a moment. “Compose reply: No. Send reply.”

It’s technically not a lie. The containment pods aren’t part of his suit.

“Reply from Miss Potts.”

“Shit,” he mutters.

“Read it, Boss?” FRIDAY asks.

“Yes, read it,” he barks testily.

“Tony, I love you more than anything. Now put down whatever armor-adjacent project you’ve created to keep yourself busy and go talk to S&B. FRIDAY will tell me if you’re lying. End message.”

Tony frowns at the speakers in the ceiling. “You traitor.”

“Administrative conflict,” FRIDAY as innocently as an AI is capable of. “Protocol Chill Pill invoked.”

Tony rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue in annoyance. Defeated by his own tech genius. Because Tony has the tendency to get lost in his work, Pepper persuaded him to create a protocol where she can ask FRIDAY for a report on his status if he works longer than their agreed upon four hours. Since ten or eleven hours aren’t unusual for him, she rarely uses it, but the nightmares must have made her more concerned than usual.

“Compose reply: Alright. I’m going. Send message.” Clearing his holo deck, Tony reluctantly heads for the elevator. Inside the elevator, he slumps against the railing. “Take me to Captain Roger’s floor.”

“Right away. Message from Miss Potts. Would you like me to read it?”

“Sure,” he says, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes again.

“My hero. Heart emoji. Kissy face emoji.”

Tony laughs in spite of himself. How dare she try to break through his righteous grumps?

Outside of Steve’s apartment, Tony pauses remembering the last time he was here.

“Let Captain Rogers know I’m here, FRIDAY.”

A few seconds later, Steve’s door slides open. Steve looks at Tony silently and back into his apartment. Then he steps out into the hall and slides the door closed behind him.

“What’re you doing here?” Steve asks dryly, folding his arms and setting his feet. It’s a fighting stance, alpha and aggressive, and Tony wonders if Steve even realizes he’s doing it or if it’s just his natural reaction to the appearance of someone who’s in conflict with his bond mate.

Tony has been pretty calm all morning, but now face-to-face, he feels both queasy again and a little angry. His fingers tingle and he consciously takes a few deep breaths. He’s landed billion dollar deals while drunk and winging his ass off. He can ask Steve to talk and eat dinner. What’s the worst that could happen? Pepper said Barnes is not the Winter Soldier. She’s a great judge of character. After all, she’s always been able to cut through his bullshit. But what if she’s wrong and—

“Tony,” Steve calls to get his attention. He unfolds his arms and his features melt from irritated to concerned. “What’s up? Is something wrong?”

“Nothing. I…” he clears his throat and wipes his hands on his pants. “Dr. Eshmun, Peter’s therapist, she, uh… she wants Barnes… you and Barnes to…”

Steve frowns when Tony’s words fade off. “Are you okay?”

Tony takes another deep breath, smells the warm bread smell of Steve trying to reassure him, and he feels silly. “Yeah, I’m fine. Peter’s therapist, she thinks it’s time to expand his exposure. Since you, Pepper, and Barnes all have clearance and the ability to protect yourself, she thought it would be a good idea to start with you guys.”

Steve frowns slightly. “What does she want us to do?”

“Talk. You’d meet with her first and if that goes well, you’d start spending half an hour with Peter every other day. Then when he’s used to that, we’d have dinner so he can get used to being around all of us at the same time. Plus, it would let us see how he reacts to alphas, betas, and omegas one on one.”

Steve nods slowly. “I’d be glad to help and I know Bucky will be, too. I’m honored you trust us enough to ask.”

Tony suppresses a cringe and smiles faintly.

They fall into silence for several awkward moments. Tony’s about to turn and leave when Steve speaks up.

“HYDRA murdered your parents.”

Tony grimaces, not really wanting to dive into this right now. “I know.”

“So when are you going to stop trying to punish Bucky?” Steve asks softly. “He had no choice in the matter. He was just a weapon.”

Tony looks him directly in the eyes, a familiar fire sparking in his gut. “If a _gun_ had killed my parents and I got my hands on it, I’d melt it down so it could never hurt anyone else.”

He turns and stabs the call button for the elevator. This was a bad idea. He’d known it but let Pepper convince him otherwise.

“Interesting coming from a former weapons manufacturer,” Steve says slowly, calmly.

Tony spins around.

“Emphasis on ‘ _former._ ’ He never even apologized,” he points out.

Behind him, the elevator chimes. The doors open and he steps in, fuming. Steve’s big hand slaps into the door panels keeping them from sliding shut.

“Would you even be open to hearing it?” Steve asks. “Sam said you blasted him in the chest when he tried to apologize after Colonel Rhodes got hurt and that was a complete accident. You spent the entire first day you knew Bucky trying to arrest him for a crime he hadn’t committed before you escalated to trying to murder him. He’s not going to put himself out there if you’re going to lash out again. If he’s learned anything over the past seventy years, it’s to do whatever it takes to avoid pain.”

“Oh!” Tony shouts. “He gets to avoid the pain? Lucky him!”

He scratches Steve’s hand sharply, an admittedly dirty move that makes Steve pull back on instinct. The doors slide shut before Steve can say anything else, shutting out the smell of charred toast and vinaigrette.

FRIDAY stays silent but the display says she’s taking him back down to the welcome peace and solitude of his lab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: Tony tends to tinker in his lab when he’s feeling vulnerable. In Iron Man, he of course creates his first suit of armor while held hostage in Afghanistan. When he returns home, he continually works to improve the suit so he can use it to go back and deal with the people who kidnapped him. In Iron Man 3, in response to his trip through the wormhole, he creates dozens of suits, armor for every eventuality he can think of. In Avengers: Age of Ultron, Wanda’s mojo stokes Tony’s fear of the world dying at his feet, so he tinkers until he accidentally creates Ultron who was intended to be armor for the world.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for a brief, non-graphic description of a non-consensual encounter. Not explicit but check the notes at the end before reading if you want to know before you read it.

Despite the parting fight with Tony, Steve and Barnes show up the next evening to talk with Dr. Eshmun as promised.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both, Captain, Sergeant,” she says.

“Likewise, ma’am,” Steve replies, the very picture of All-American manners, reaching out to shake her hand.

Barnes echoes his polite ma’am sentiment but carefully doesn’t touch her, instead taking a seat on the couch Tony had brought down. Cap sits next to him, leaving the two free standing cushioned chairs for Eshmun and Tony.

“I assume Tony explained what we’re doing here?” she begins.

“More or less, ma’am. You’re creating an exposure therapy regimen for Peter to get him re-acclimated to a variety of designations in non-threatening situations.”

Tony lifts an eyebrow at Steve’s ease with psychobabble jargon. Where had he picked that up?

Eshmun is also impressed and nods. “Exactly. So, what I’d like to do is have you go first. Sit, talk about whatever comes to mind if you feel up to it. Then Peter would have a fifteen-minute break followed by Sergeant Barnes. Tony will anchor and I’ll join in at the tail end to debrief with Peter. Sound good?”

Steve agrees readily and Barnes goes along with him, somewhat less enthusiastic but on board. They spend a few minutes going over what to do if Peter gets agitated.

“Peter knows Tony and I are out here if he needs us. He has a clicker just like the ones we gave each of you. Captain Rogers, if you think he’s getting distressed by your presence, press your button, take a seat, and look away until we come and get you.”

“Okay,” Steve says with a nod.

“Sergeant Barnes, same thing. If he becomes aggressive or you get uncomfortable and want to leave, just press your button.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Barnes answers softly but promptly.

The emergency buttons are their compromise. Tony had argued vehemently to be allowed to reinstate all of FRIDAY’s surveillance capabilities. Steve, however, had put his foot down and reminded Tony of how much Steve and Bucky hate being watched, for science or any other reason. As politely as he could, he’d declared surveillance a deal breaker.

“Thanks for coming,” Tony says quietly to Steve as Eshmun and Barnes discuss relaxation techniques.

“You’re my friend. You don’t even have to ask,” Steve says with a small smile.

And this is why Tony spends so much of his time split between wanting to hug Steve and punch him in his too-perfect-to-be-real teeth.

Steve goes first, leaving Tony with Eshmun and Barnes. Once the door clicks behind Steve, Tony realizes they hadn’t really planned what the rest of them would do while they waited. It doesn’t take long for the silence to get to him and he starts to study Barnes who seems to be doing some kind of internal zen kumbaya shit to center himself or whatever.

Which of course irks Tony who can’t leave well enough alone. But he’s careful what he says in front of Eshmun.

“You seem better.”

Bucky nods, not even opening his eyes. “I feel better.”

“So, nobody’s gonna read a grocery list and scramble your brains again?” he prods.

Barnes flicks his gaze at Tony, looking at him from the corner of his eye, like he’s trying to decide if he really wants to accept this opening volley.

“Not exactly a grocery list. Trigger words were words drilled into my brain by extensive torture until my body learned to be afraid of them and my brain automatically disassociated to escape.”

Eshmun watches them with interest over the top of the Kindle she was smart enough to bring.

“But no, Shuri and her scientist took care of that,” Barnes finishes.

“Must be pretty smart.”

“You have no idea,” Barnes says with a smirk. “You’re the king brain around these parts but all of your tech is pagers and eight tracks compared to what they have in Wakanda.”

Tony ignores the dig. Barely. “Sounds like you really like them.”

Barnes shrugs. “It definitely helps that I can simply look at them and tell they’re not secretly Nazis.”

“That’s racist.”

Eshmun snorts a small laugh, biting her lips and drops her eyes back to her Kindle when they look over.

Barnes bites back his own laugh. “Is it racist if I assume a minority group has purer intentions?”

“Reverse-racism then.”

“Oh, no. I’m being mean to Nazis,” Barnes mocks in fake dismay.

Tony lets it drop. He’s not going to argue in favor of Nazis just so he can dig at Barnes.

“All that shit about racial purity was bullshit anyway,” Barnes spits out with disgust after a few moments of silence. “It was all about power, however they could get it. They hated Cap and he’s the blond-haired, blue eyed ideal. Me, on the other hand, they consider me their greatest creation.”

“You still have blue eyes,” Tony points out.

Barnes arches an eyebrow over one of those aforementioned eyes. “I’m a quarter Romani and a quarter Jewish. Or Gypsy Jew as they called us back then. On top of that, I was already bonded with Steve.”

“Was that a big deal?” Tony asks. “I thought they were cool with it even back then as long as your pairing could make babies.”

Barnes shrugs. “Most people we knew were okay with it but as a gypsy Jew and a poor Irish Catholic cripple being raised by a single mother, we lived in a more… tolerant neighborhood. HYDRA was all about male alpha-female omega. The ‘purest’ pairing. Never stopped any of them from rutting with me though. Hell, a bunch of ‘em didn’t even wait until they had the excuse of being in rut. And they had no problem rolling around with me during my heats to create temp bonds. So, yeah. Complete bullshit.”

Tony doesn’t know what to say. Barnes just says it so matter-of-factly. The air’s not even scented except for hints of Tony’s own cherry wine. Tony looks at Eshmun for help.

Taking her cue from Tony, she puts down her Kindle and sits forward. “I’m truly very sorry to hear that happened to you, Sergeant Barnes. It makes it all the more amazing to me that you survived.”

Barnes makes a questioning noise in his throat. “Call me Bucky. Sergeant Barnes was a long time ago. And survived is debatable, but I’m here and they’re not, so I’ll take it.”

“The first step in a journey of a thousand miles,” she says with a soft smile.

Not long after, the timer goes off and Tony gets up to disengage the door locks and let Steve out.

Steve steps out of Peter’s room and rejoins them. He hesitates with a small frown, sensing the unease in the room. He sniffs softly then visually checks in with Barnes who gives him a small smile and pulls him down on to the couch.

"You okay?" Steve asks softly, pulling Barnes into him.

"I'm fine," Barnes murmurs, nuzzling into Steve's touch. They scent each other for the entirety of Peter’s break before Barnes stands and heads in for his time with Peter. As soon as the door latches behind Barnes, Steve turns to Tony.

“What happened?”

“Nothing much. Barnes told us what he did during winter vacation,” Tony answers with feigned casualness.

Steve looks to Eshmun who nods in solidarity, confusing Steve who was obviously prepared to rip into Tony if need be. Instead, he accepts the good doc’s word with pursed lips and settles to wait. Without Barnes to bait, Tony tools around on his holo bracelet’s display, mostly reading and replying to emails, carefully not thinking about what Barnes had said. Silence takes over the room.

Thirty minutes later, Barnes exits the room. He and Steve speak with Eshmun for a brief moment, butTony doesn’t wait to hear what they’re talking about. He’ll get the digest later if it’s relevant to Peter’s treatment.

When Tony goes in, Peter is already perched on the recliner. It’s a good sign. He does look frazzled at the edges though, a sign he needs scent comfort. Tony flops down beside him. Almost immediately, Peter all but glues himself to Tony, a little pushier than he normally is. His scent smells lightly of rubber tires but not quite distressed. It only takes about ten minutes for him to fall asleep. The increased interaction must have exhausted him. Tony lets him rest until it’s time for Eshmun to come in and debrief him.

“Were you okay spending time with Captain Rogers?” she asks.

Peter gives a thumbs-up without bothering to lift his head from where it’s buried against Tony’s neck.

“And how about Sergeant Barnes?”

Another thumbs-up.

“Would it be okay if they came again two days from now, same amount of time?”

Thumbs-up.

“Do you want to change the order that you see me, Tony, Captain Rogers, and Sergeant Barnes?”

He shakes his head against Tony’s neck.

“Excellent. You did an amazing job, Peter. I know that wasn’t easy and you’re tired now, but you should be pretty proud of yourself. I’ll see you again in two days.”

Peter gives a half wave.

Once she’s gone, Tony lets Peter cuddle for another ten minutes before he prods the boy to let him up.

“People are exhausting,” Peter whispers as Tony tucks him in for the night.

“Yeah, they can be. But you did good. See you tomorrow, Bitsy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Bucky mentions HYDRA alphas using him to help them get through their ruts. He also mentions that they would knot him during his heats in order to force temporary bonds which would make him more pliable and suggestible to whomever he was temporarily bonded with. 
> 
> Fun fact: Sebastian Stan who plays Bucky Barnes is from Romania. I also liked the idea of making Bucky Jewish because it would further explain why Cap is so determined to fight the Nazis and any of their modern day off spring.


	14. Chapter 14

The next time Steve and Bucky show up, Tony makes sure to have spare StarkPads available. Officially, it’s so they have access to podcasts and videos to use with Peter if they’re not feeling particularly talkative. If it also distracts Barnes from sharing anymore of his _Ghost in the Shell_ backstory while they wait for Steve, that’s a nice, completely unplanned bonus that Tony will gladly accept. Hearing details of Barnes’ captivity triggers memories of his own time in Afghanistan, confusing things in his head in a way he finds very uncomfortable and disconcerting.

After a week of successful visits, Dr. Eshmun okays the dinner. Her suggestion is for them to alternate the dinners with their hangouts so that Peter the same amount of socialization every day and gets used to a different setting. Together, Eshmun, Tony, and Peter pick Monday night, three days from now, to be their first try. Tony marks it in his electronic calendar and types out a message to Pepper who quickly replies back that she’d be more than happy to arrange the dinner.   

With their debriefing done, Eshmun leaves, but Tony sticks around a little longer than he usually would. Peter's yawning, but he's not complaining about extra scent time.

“What do you guys talk about? You and Cap and Barnes?” Tony finally asks as though he doesn’t know it’s a huge violation of the privacy he and Steve argued about. What Steve doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Probably.

Peter shrugs.

“Nothing really," he rasps, his voice gravelly from disuse. "They’re both pretty quiet.”

“Ah, yes. The stoic men of the Greatest Generation,” Tony jokes. “So, they didn’t drop any juicy deets the world doesn’t already know about WinterCaptain?”

Peter gives him a mischievous grin. “Not a secret if I tell _you.”_

Ouch. Double burn. Tony grabs at his chest as though mortally wounded. “I can keep a secret!”

Peter gives an ambiguous hum but doesn’t say anything more. That’s fine. They’re already pushing a record for most words said in one sitting. Tony’s just glad to see Peter’s sense of humor re-emerging. The thump to his pride is worth it to see his spiderling smile.

* * *

The dinner ends up being held at Tony and Pepper’s place. Peter’s room is too small to comfortably fit six people and a dining set without feeling claustrophobic and Steve and Barnes, the heathens, don’t even own a dining room table, apparently preferring to eat at the built-in breakfast bar or on their sofa in front of the TV.

Tony brings Peter up first in order give him time to get used to being in a strange room and out of his den for the first time in weeks. Dressed in cotton track pants and a tee rather than his normal jammies, Peter drifts around the dining room for a few minutes before finally taking a seat at the far end of the table with his back to the wall where he can see anyone who enters the room. Once seated, he immediately pulls his feet onto the chair so that he knees are huddled to his chest. Not the best table manners, but exponentially better than a freak out. Tony has one of Peter’s blankets stashed in the nearby curio for in case of emergency.

Dr. Eshmun shows up next, dressed in slacks and a button down, a bit fancier than her normal jeans and polo. She’s brought a tray of fresh-baked baklava. Before the dish even makes it into the oven’s warming rack, she and Pepper are fast friends, laughing at some story Pepper is telling. Tony shakes his head while hanging Eshmun’s jacket in the hall closet. He’s smart enough to be concerned but wise enough not to say anything.

Steve and Barnes show up last. Steve has on his usual grandpa khakis and button down. Barnes seems to have waffled between styles, wearing a pair of light grey chinos and a black tee. They come bearing French bread and grocery store wine which Pepper graciously accepts.

“Have a seat,” she says cheerfully, turning to take the wine into the kitchen. When she returns and they’re still standing, she shoots Tony a dirty look. 40’s etiquette would demand that the lady and man of the house sit at the ends of the table, but Peter’s already taken one of those spots leaving it unclear where Tony and Pepper intend to sit.

“Captain Rogers—” Pepper begins.

“Steve” he insists.

“Steve, I’m going to ask Sergeant Barnes—"

“Bucky,” Barnes says.

Pepper smiles, a genuine smile that lights up her eyes. “Bucky to sit on this end. If you don’t mind sitting to his left.”

“My pleasure, ma’am.”

“Thank you. And I’ll sit here,” she says gesturing to the chair between Barnes and Eshmun. “And Tony, you’re there.”

Tony nods, a sharp single motion and heads for the seat between Steve and Peter. It makes sense. The arrangement uses Eshmun and Tony as a buffer zone for Peter and the rest of the room, putting him furthest from Barnes who is as capable of having a bad reaction to Peter as Peter is of having a reaction to him. But it niggles that he’s so close to Pepper.

Nobody else seems to be worried though, so Tony bites his tongue for now.

Pepper smiles and lifts the lid off the tray in the center of the table. The smell of warm, spicy salami and prosciuttini fill the room making Tony’s mouth water and the entire group murmur in appreciation.

“I had Happy ask around and according to him everybody said these were the best sandwiches in Queens.”

“Delmar’s Deli?” Peter asks hopefully, surprising everyone by actually speaking.

Pepper frowns in thought. “No. I think he said it was Leo’s Latticini.”

“Oh,” he says, but he still reaches out for a sandwich. After a few moments of plate passing, everybody has a sandwich or two. Pepper and Eshmun have wine. Peter, Tony, Steve, and Barnes have sparkling cider.

Tony bites into his sandwich and groans in pleasure. Salami, prosciuttini, mozzarella, mushrooms, peppers all on buttery ciabatta…

“Good, right?” Peter mumbles through his mouthful.

Tony nods enthusiastically. “FRIDAY, see if Leo’s Latticini needs investors.”

The group laughs and continues eating.

There’s not much talking as they eat. Pepper bought enough for a small army which is prudent when feeding two super soldiers, an enhanced human, and three normies.

Eventually, the sandwiches and sides disappear, eating slows to a lull, and they start to talk a bit, pleasant conversation before dessert is served.

“Sargent Barnes—” Eshmun begins.

“Bucky,” he corrects.

“My apologies. And if you’re Bucky, I’m Angelika. Not ‘ma’am.’”

“I’ll try,” he says.

“Bucky, you come from a small family, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he stops and shakes his head, realizing what he’s done. “Yes. Me, my parents, and four younger sisters.”

“Wow. Five kids. That must've been interesting.”

“Yeah. It would definitely keep any parent on their toes,” Barnes says.

“What was it like having four younger sisters?” Pepper asks.

“I liked it, I think. Rebecca, the next oldest after me, was a firecracker.”

Tony frowns slightly, watching as they continue talking. It only takes him a few more back and forths to realize what was bothering him about the exchange. Bucky casually glances at Steve for reassurance after each answer as though he’s not quite sure and the answers are ridiculously bare bone. Ask anyone about their memories growing up and, good or bad, they would probably come up with more than one careful sentence. Barnes answers like he's giving carefully prepared answers to interview questions.

“Your parents must have been proud of you when you joined up. Their little boy becoming a _soldier_ ,” Tony interjects, almost curiously, just to see how Barnes reacts.

Barnes stiffens, glances at Eshmun and Peter before answering. “I was their eldest and their only son, but any parent would be proud of their kid for serving our country.”

“Gentlemen, I’m not sure war is an appropriate topic for this particular dinner,” Eshmun says staring meaningfully at Tony before glancing over at Peter. But whatever part of Tony that stare would've connected with is completely offline as he locks in on Barnes.

“I'm sure they were. Too bad they didn’t live long enough to see you finally make it home,” he says coolly.

“Tony!” Pepper says sharply. Cap echoes her. Tony ignores them both, fascinated by the ticking vein on the left side of Barnes' forehead. 

Barnes bites his tongue. Tony can see the motion through his cheek. His brows lower and the smell of bitter almonds starts to float. The calm facade is starting to slip.

“I wish they had. As you know, I'm part Jewish. My parents died believing their only son had been killed by Nazis.”

Tony ignores the small, telling waver in Barnes' voice, goes in for the kill, almost gleeful that he's struck a wounding blow. “Boy, did they have that mixed up.”

Barnes takes a deep gasping inhale and his eyes round to those stupid puppy dog eyes everyone falls for before dropping down and away.

“Tony, shut up. Now.” Steve barks, simultaneously reaching out for Barnes' hands, his eyes glued to his mate.

Tony lets out a low, forceful hum, angry for the millionth time that omegas don’t have a growl. Steve’s gaze whips around and his eyebrows shoot up before they slam back down and he lets out a full, throaty growl, further pissing Tony off because he sounds like baby Simba confronting the hyenas while Steve sounds like Mufasa. At the end of the table, Peter lets his own growl rip and the bitterness of four agitated scents, charred bread and burning wood, hot tar and sharp vinegar, is making the room unbearable. The only sweetness is Pepper, trying desperately to cut through the tension.

“Guys, please! Calm down,” she urges before letting out a sharp gasp of pain.

Steve glances at her and his growl abruptly cuts off.

Caught off guard by Steve’s sudden abdication, Tony looks as well to see what had drawn his attention.

Pepper is pale and shaking, beads of sweat dotting her forehead. With everyone’s scents abruptly shifting to concern or at least less threatened, toasted bread, bitter almonds, cherry wine, it’s easier to smell how overpowering the scent of gingerbread is in the room, Pepper throwing everything she has behind trying to use her pheromones, the only weapon at her disposal, to defuse a brewing four-way feud between three enhanced humans and her omega. Eshmun, unaffected by the swamp of scents is murmuring quietly to Peter who seems to be focused on her words even as he glares into table and his chest heaves with agitated breaths while hot tar still fogs the air near him.

Barnes is the first to speak up.

“Tony, I understand you’re upset. I get it. I really do,” he says. “I killed your parents. You have the right to hate me forever. But I really wish you wouldn’t. For your sake.”

Tony doesn’t even try to resist rolling his eyes. “How altruistic of you, Buckles.”

Barnes sighs and looks down for a moment, rubbing the back of his flesh hand across his eyes before looking back at Tony. “I know how it sounds, but I mean it. HYDRA… HYDRA thrives on hate and fear and violence. They keep everybody so worked up that you don’t even realize they’re stealing your life bit by bit until it’s too late. You once asked me if I even remembered your parents. The answer is yes. I remember Howard. He was my  _friend_. He helped with the serum process that saved Steve's life. In my right mind, I would've protected him with my life. I never met Maria before that night, but I see her face, both of their faces, in my sleep. _When_ I sleep.”

“I don’t give a shit about you having nightmares. Boo hoo. You deserve them,” Tony snaps, glaring at Barnes as though looks might kill if he did it long and hard enough.

“Maybe,” Barnes says with a shrug. “The honest truth is I remember _your_ parents better than I remember my own. HYDRA stole my family from me, too. Fried my brain until George and Winifred Barnes are just names I read on a card in the Smithsonian, people Steve sometimes tells me about. By the time I escaped, they were all long dead. I don’t even remember what they looked like. Photographs were expensive in the 40s. The first time I had a memory, a real memory of my sister Rebecca, what she looked like, how she sounded, I cried. Because it meant that I actually existed before HYDRA.”

Tony starts to gasp for breath and he feels that warning tingling in his left arm. It pisses him off to no end which in turn makes it worse. He hates this stupid weakness, his body betraying him. He wants to stay mad, hold on to that smoldering fury, because if Barnes is collateral damage, just another victim... Tony stands abruptly, shoving his chair back so hard it tips and clatters to the ground.

“Fuck you!” he chokes out and stalks down the long hallway away from the dining room and the front door to the back of their apartment.

The private elevator is already waiting for him when he gets to it. Unlike the public one in the main hall the others had used to get here, this one only runs through the two floors of their apartment and then straight down to Tony’s lab. He steps in ignoring the people calling his name. He’s barely holding it together and if he has to talk to any of them, he’s going to lose his shit.

The elevator doors close, but the car holds steady. FRIDAY hesitates, seemingly unsure where to direct him, a rarity for the AI.

“Boss?” she asks softly.

He points up at the ceiling and the elevator smoothly starts its ascent only stopping once it reaches the upper floor of their apartment.

Tony stumbles down the hall, eyes so wet with tears it’s literally displacing his contacts. He fumbles the lenses out of his eyes cursing at himself for not having invented something better than LASIK which he refuses to have done because his luck doesn’t allow him trust something that only has a ninety-six percent success rate. Flicking the stupid things away instead of putting them in solution, he grabs his glasses out of the bowl on the console table just inside their bedroom door and stumbles into their gigantic walk-in closet, kicking off his shoes as he nears his emergency nest.

He flops down into the ridiculously soft pile of clothes, pillows, blankets, and padding. A blanket he and Pepper had used for a while on their bed. Some sweatshirts she’d scent marked. A t-shirt from Rhodey. He grabs one of the pillows and curls around it, pulling one of the heavy blankets over him. He stares into the dark, completely disgusted by the tears trailing down his cheeks.

_I don’t even remember what they look like…_

Damn him.

Tony’s been laying there, curled up on his side, for about twenty minutes when he hears Pepper enter the bedroom. The closet door quietly clicks open.

“I sent them all home. Eshmun took Peter back to his room.”

Tony squeezes his eyes, guilt making him feel worse than he already did. How did he manage to forget about the kid, the whole reason they’d all been here tonight? He’ll have to make it up to him the next time he sees Peter.

“He okay?”

“He will be. Eshmun gave him the emergency blanket you had stashed.”

“Thanks,” he sighs.

“You okay, babe?” she asks, slipping gracefully down to the floor, crawling to curl up behind him. She wraps her arms around him and squeezes him in a hug he didn’t even realize he was dying for until she did it.

He takes her wrist gratefully and holds it to his nose. “Why did I think an apology would make me feel better?”

She nuzzles her nose into his hair, drops a kiss behind his ear. “You didn’t want an apology. You wanted your pain acknowledged.”

The woman is brilliant. She’s brilliant and intuitive and she always gets him and that’s why he loves her. Tony tries to sniffle quietly and fails miserably. He focuses on his heart beat and breathes in the combined scent of him and Pepper.

“He’s not the bad guy, is he?” he finally says, feeling dull and empty, completely cried out.

Her hand shifts to his neck, wrapping halfway around, cradling the column in her hand as her thumb slowly and firmly rubs at the scent gland there.

“No. Not really.”

He swipes at his cheeks and sighs heavily. “This would be so much easier if this was a spaghetti western with the good guys in black and the bad guys in white.”

He can feel her smile against the back of his neck. “I think you got those mixed up.”

“Nope,” he says with a shake of his head. “Everybody knows black is slimming and more flattering and if you get shot in white, everybody will know it.”

“And if you get shot, you become a red shirt,” Pepper says with a grin in her voice.

“Exactly. I love it when you talk Trekkie to me.”

It probably _would_ be simpler if they could shoot it out _The Sons of Katie Elder_ style. But nooo, they had to ‘use their words.’ Tony mentally rolls his eyes.

They cuddle and scent until drowsiness starts to pull at Tony as the adrenaline and anger finally begin to retreat and fade.

“Am I a bad person if I’m angry I can’t hate him anymore?”

He feels her shake her head. “No. You’re human. He was the only tangible target for how you felt. Now you have information that makes being mad at him feel bad. Doesn’t mean the mad magically goes away.”

Tony hums and thinks about it, hooking one of his legs between hers, tangling their feet together. Their fingers are interlaced, giving both of them access to the scent glands there.

“Fine,” Tony finally says. “But he’s still not on the Christmas card list.”

“Well, sweetie, he’s Jewish, so…”

Tony snorts and turns, kisses Pepper long and slow, wordlessly thanking her for always being in his corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: Delmar's Deli is Peter's favorite deli in Spiderman Homecoming. I googled to find out if it was real and if so what the number 5 (Peter's favorite sandwich) was. It doesn't exist, unfortunately. But according to the interwebs, the best deli in Queens in real life is Leo's Latticini and the most popular order is Mama's special, so that's what the group has for dinner. In my mind, they all took leftovers even after the meal fell apart because who leaves leftover Leo's?


	15. Chapter 15

The next morning is a quiet one as though Pepper knows he still needs time to think. She even lets him get away with having coffee and cold baklava for breakfast.

“I love you and you’re a good person,” she says, giving a him a big hug and a quick nuzzle against his throat before grabbing her things for work. “Don’t spend all day in your lab.”

“I won’t.”

Tony decides to give himself an hour in his lab. Okay, two. Max. He tinkers around with the chemical oxygen generator he’d started researching the week before. After half an hour or so of trial and error, he simulates a chemical combination that resists combustion until it hits a heat threshold not even his suit can survive. The next step will be creating a puncture proof container that will fit inside the confines of his already constructed suit, signal relays, and a dispersal method. He puts it aside for now. Time to face the music.

“Alright, FRIDAY,” he says rubbing at his eyes which are tired from staring at his simulator screen. “Any hot takes in my inbox?”

FRIDAY normally notifies him of messages as soon as he’s had his coffee but reading his mood she’d wisely waited.

“You have an e-mail from Dr. Eshmun, Boss. Shall I read it?”

“Sure. Why not?” Tony says, suddenly itching to start working on that puncture proof container.

“Good morning, Tony. Thank you for a wonderful meal at your home. If you have time, I’d like to meet. I’m available today from 9 to 11:30 and 2 to 3:30. Thank you. Signed Angelika Eshmun PhD. End message.”

Tony glances at the clock display. 8:30. He doesn’t really want to do this but it’s not like he can avoid Peter’s therapist indefinitely.

“Compose reply: Morning, Doc. Glad you enjoyed the dinner and the show. However, I’m not really up for critic reviews. I look forward to continuing our work on Peter’s care. Underline Peter’s care. Send reply.”

Tony has given in and started on that stupid container when FRIDAY politely interrupts.

“Reply from Dr. Eshmun, Boss.”

Tony barely looks up from the miniature model he’s crafting with titanium. “Read it.”

“We would be meeting about Peter’s care. I would like to discuss possible adjustments to his treatment. I feel it’s important that we take care of this quickly, but privacy laws do not allow me to discuss such matters across unsecure communication methods. I’m available between the times previously listed. Thank you. End message.”

Sighing, he works for a few more minutes before pulling off his soldering mask and putting down his torch. “Compose reply: I’ll be there by 10. Send reply.”

Despite already smelling a trap, Tony goes to change into something more presentable than his slightly-singed t-shirt and track pants before heading out.

* * *

Eshmun’s office is in a converted two-story brick home on the outskirts of Georgetown. The faded brick façade serves as a subtle canvas for a fire-engine red door trimmed with white crown molding and white-framed windows with bold, black shutters. Tony decides it suits her.

He pushes the buzzer and a mechanical latch releases, allowing him to open the door and step into the foyer where Eshmun quickly meets him.

“Good morning. Thank you for coming.”

“Wow, Doc. You look different.”

She’s dressed in pin-striped cropped dress pants, a sleeveless grey tunic over a white v-neck, and nude colored shoes. She’d been dressed up for dinner but he’s still very used to her trendy graduate student look.

She hums. “I dress for what I might have to do that day. When working with kids, lying on the floor is not uncommon but very hard on dress clothes. Let’s head into my office.”

He follows her into an open, contemporary room with teal walls, gray furniture, and jewel toned accents throughout.

Tony takes a seat on the couch. Eshmun sits catty-corner in a chair.

“So, you said I was here to talk about Peter’s care,” he prompts her once they’re both settled.

“I did,” she nods. “Do you think you’re important to Peter’s recovery?”

Tony frowns. Is this a test? Like those stupid scenarios SHIELD put him through before labeling him a narcissist? He hesitates, not sure what she wants to hear.

“I’d like to think I help,” he ventures.

“I believe you do,” she says. “I think you’re very important to his recovery. He depends on you and, more importantly, he likes you and he trusts you.”

Tony smiles knowingly. “That sounds a lot like the spoonful of sugar.”

She smiles back, acknowledging his instincts. “What happens to Peter if something happens to you, if you’re not well?”

His smile slides away and he sits back, folding his arms and crossing his legs at the ankle. “If something happened that prevented me from helping Peter, Pepper would step in. She knows how important his well-being is to me.”

“Peter and Pepper don’t really have a relationship,” she points out. “They’re both people you care about a great deal but they don’t really know each other. If you suddenly had to stop visiting Peter, if he lost that connection to someone he knows and trusts, I think he would suffer a severe setback.”

“But I’m not going to do that,” Tony says firmly. “I haven’t even been doing anything dangerous. Not by Avengers standards anyway.”

She hums. “What about the panic attacks? Not to be impolite but you’re a man in your late forties with a high stress job, a history of alcohol abuse, and prior injury to your heart. The added strain of the panic attacks is a serious threat.”

Tony scowls at her. “That’s not really related to Peter’s care, is it?”

“Isn’t it?” she asks back. “You’re a major part of his care system. Bucky, who triggers these attacks, is a support member. In addition to the risk to your health, a conflict between the two of you affects Peter’s treatment.”

“I don’t see how.”

She gives him that look teachers give when a student has said or done something that doesn’t make sense but they want to give the kid a chance to self-correct. Tony ignores it.

“Peter’s going to remember the blow up you two had. I promise you, the next time I debrief him and ask him if he wants Bucky to come back, he’s going to say no. Because you’re important to him and he’ll do whatever he thinks will make you happy even if it means giving up a chance to connect with someone who knows exactly what he’s been through and might be able to help him make sense of it.”

“I would never ask him to do that,” Tony says flatly.

“You won’t have to.”

She pauses, seems to think for a moment. “Does it bother you that so many people are willing to give Bucky a chance?”

The question catches Tony off guard, hits him like a punch in the gut. Sudden, inexplicable fear and unease make his fingers and toes tingle, his stomach churns, and he can smell traces of cherry wine. He’s never been so grateful for gamma’s lack of scent detection.

“Why should it?” he asks carefully.

“Why wouldn’t it?” she pushes back. “He murdered your birth family and now every day you have to watch him interact with your new family, your friends, people you consider under your protection and everybody treats it like it’s no big deal. Like you’re going too far when you try to remind them what Bucky is capable of.”

Tony blinks fast and hard against suddenly burning eyes. He clenches his teeth and swallows against the tightness in his throat. He lets his head loll back for a moment before looking at her.

“That’s _exactly_ what it feels like.”

She nods, waits, maybe for him to keep talking, but he doesn’t know what else to say.

“When you say things about Bucky’s past to him and you know it hurts him, does it make you feel better?”

Tony looks away, stares out the window behind her, at the birds hopping along the top of the bush outside the window. “Not really.”

“But you still do it. Why?”

He looks back at her before looking down. “Because it makes him feel worse.”

“Is it important to you that he feel bad?” she asks.

“No! It’s just that… every time I see him, walking around, happy with Steve. I… I get so angry. Like how dare he be trying to put his life back together when I can’t?”

She nods, pauses. “Do you feel like you had your life together before you found out the truth about your parents’ death, back when you thought it was just a tragic car accident?”

Tony tuts in disapproval. “Doc, you once told me you wouldn’t insult me by pretending not to know who I am and what I’ve done.”

She tilts her head ruefully. “Very true. I’m sorry. Let me rephrase. Would it be fair to say that you felt a lack of closure around your parents’ death even before you knew that Bucky had played a role?”

Tony nods slowly. “Yeah. I… my dad and I never saw eye to eye. He _hated_ that I presented omega. But I always thought… I thought he’d eventually come around. That I would eventually be able to make him see me, the real me, and that would finally be good enough. Then he died and that chance was gone.”

“Which was tragic but acceptable until you found out it wasn’t just a bad twist of fate. That chance had been stolen from you.”

“By Barnes,” he finishes for her.

Her brow crinkles. “Do you understand that he was brainwashed?”

Tony rolls his eyes, preparing himself to talk about this for the millionth time. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry. I just notice that you always say Barnes murdered your parents rather than HYDRA had them killed. I’m curious how you reconcile the two ideas of Barnes not being in control of his actions and his actions being used to kill your parents.”

Tony stares into the middle distance, thinking. Eshmun doesn’t rush him, waits patiently.

“I’m not really sure I have. I mean, I know it here,” he says tapping his forehead, “but I don’t know how to accept it here.”

His hand moves down to his heart.

“And that’s why you had a panic attack when he started telling you about the HYDRA torture and how it affected him. Your brain knows one thing and your emotions feel something else and they’re sending your body conflicting signals.”

Tony lets out a soft _hmph._ “So, what should I do?”

She smiles regretfully. “That I can’t tell you. You and Bucky, your paths are entangled. Multiple people in your life are connected to him, some deeply and inextricably. You have to figure out what you need in order for that to be okay with you.”

Tony groans playfully. “What am I paying you for then?”

“Well, technically to treat Peter,” she says with a huffing laugh. “But also, to make you think. I can lead you to the water, horsie…”

Tony laughs and rolls his eyes.

“In the meantime, are you still okay with Steve and Bucky visiting with Peter?”

He thinks for a long moment. “Do you think they’re helping?”

She nods. “I do.”

“Then, yeah.”

She picks up a small leather-bound book and scribbles something. “Okay. With your permission, I’ll talk to Steve, Bucky, and Peter again, make sure everything is still okay and we’ll keep going. In the meantime, your homework is…”

“To figure out what I need to be okay,” Tony answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun note: While I do have graduate-level background in counseling, I mostly write Pepper and Dr. Eshmun by thinking "What would Mr. Rogers say?"
> 
> Alrighty, that's it for this week! Thanks for all the love on my story. See you Monday!


	16. Chapter 16

Eshmun meets with Steve and Bucky during their scheduled time with Peter. Tony carefully isn’t there out of an abundance of caution. Instead, he has FRIDAY notify him when Bucky’s visit is over and Steve and Bucky have cleared the floor. When Tony arrives, the room is empty save for Eshmun who says nothing beyond a greeting as he crosses to the connector door to Peter’s room.

Peter sits at his usual perch on the recliner. Seeing him there, Tony realizes he isn’t sure what the kid does during his time with Steve or Bucky. The question has never really occurred to him before. Tony’s never picked up either of their scents on the recliner which in hindsight is a relief. Technically, the chair is Peter’s to do with as he pleases, but Tony has come to think of it as part of a ritual, a bond just between the two of them.

“How’s it hanging, Crazy Eights?” Tony quips, pressing his hands together and wiggling his fingers in an imitation of a spider crawling.

Peter laughs soundlessly with one corner of his mouth hitching up.

“What are we doing today?”

In answer, Peter slips down to the floor in the boneless way only the youthful can. He scoots across the rug to pull out his bin of K’Nex which seem to be his unofficial favorites out of all the trinkets, baubles, and manipulables Tony has given him.

Tony clambers down with a groan to join him. Combing through the pieces, they begin building, the distinctive clattering of hard plastic the only noise.

“I think we could use some tunes,” Tony says after a few minutes. He taps at the holo-display on his wrist bracelet and brings up an instrumental pop channel on YouTube and turns the volume so it’s high enough to be heard, but low enough not to be distracting.

They work in congenial silence. Tony’s really just snapping pieces together, but once he realizes Peter’s building the frame for a Ferris wheel, he shifts to assembling passenger carts, periodically glancing at Peter who is the picture of intense focus, the very tip of his tongue adorably poking out of the corner of his mouth as he worked.

An hour later, when the timer on Tony’s bracelet buzzes in reminder of the looming end of their time, Peter has put together the body of the Ferris wheel, 3-D and roughly the size of a car tire, and moved on to creating the crank turn base. The smell of warm leather emanates through the room and Tony is loath to do anything that might disrupt that. He snaps the last of the passenger carriages into place before speaking up.

“Alright, Webby. Do you want me to help you put the finishing touches on this or hangout for the last half hour?” he gestures with his head towards the recliner.

Peter tilts his head, considering for a moment before shifting and flipping into an acrobatic move that ends with him back on the arm of the recliner.

Tony narrows his eyes. “Show off.”

One or two curse words later, Tony manages to lever himself off the floor and back into the chair. Once Tony’s settled, Peter drops down into the seat next to him and pivots, bridging his legs across Tony’s before leaning in, his head against Tony’s shoulder. He takes a deep breath, lets it out and Tony can feel Peter’s entire body go lax on the exhale.

They sit there for a while with Tony occasionally rubbing Peter’s back. It’s peaceful and perfect and of course can’t last forever. Knowing they don’t have long, Tony finally speaks up.

“How was your visit with Steve today?”

“Good,” Peter murmurs.

Tony hums a positive sound. “How about Bucky?”

The tensing of muscles is subtle. Tony would’ve missed it if his hand hadn’t already been on Peter’s back.

Peter sits up, bites his lip and glances at Tony before shrugging.

“Do you like Bucky?”

Peter looks at him a moment, seeming to study his face. “I don’t like him if you don’t like him.”

It’s a softly spoken statement of fierce loyalty that should make him feel warm and fuzzy but instead feels like a kick in the ass. Eshmun had warned him, but that hadn’t prepared. Not for this.

Somehow, without even meaning to, he’s become his old man, pushing his insecurities, fears, and anger on to everyone around him and Peter’s twisting, carefully trying to figure out what Tony wants to hear.

“I’m sorry,” Tony blurts out, ashamed.

Peter frowns. “For what?”

“For making you feel like… like you have to…” Tony sighs heavily, pauses, starts again. “You were always so eager and I could see how much potential you have and you just—you remind me so much of myself at your age. I remember how _badly_ I wanted people to see me for who I was and what I could. I would twist myself to be whatever they wanted, but it was never good enough. All anybody could see was my designation.”

Tony grips Peter lightly by the chin, almost desperate to make sure the kid is looking at him when he says this. “You don’t have to give up things you want to make other people like you. You’re allowed to like Barnes, especially if talking to him makes you feel better.”

“He killed your parents…” Peter says slowly.

“HYDRA killed my parents,” Tony says and then _hmphs,_ his hand dropping away from Peter, incredulous that he’s actually defending Bucky Barnes. He’s half-way tempted to ask FRIDAY if there have been any weather anomalies since hell has clearly frozen over.

Peter leans back in and returns his head to Tony’s shoulder.

“I still miss my parents. And my uncle. I mean, May’s amazing, but…” he frowns and his hand lifts to clench in Tony’s shirt as he tenses. “Where _is_ my aunt? Have you checked on her?”

Tony pauses, deliberating. He really should’ve talked about this with Eshmun already, but somehow it had slipped by them. He didn’t want to freak Peter out, but he’s not going to lie to the kid.

“She… we’re pretty sure she got caught in The Cull. We’re checking for her every day, but we haven’t found her yet. We’re not going to give up. We’re going to find her and get her whatever help she needs, okay? I promise.”

Peter’s not hearing it. He struggles to sit up against Tony’s grip, smoking tires wafting from him. “I gotta—I can’t just sit here. I gotta…”

Tony pulls him into a hug, smothering him in cherry tart. “I know you want to help. That’s the big heart that made me recruit you in the first place, but you gotta sit tight. I’m using the same level of resources to find her as I am for Falcon and Scarlet Witch. Full court press. If you go out there, I’d just have to divert some of them to protecting you. The best thing you can do for May is stay here and get better. She’s going to need you when she gets back.”

Peter slowly stops pulling against Tony and nods.

It takes a bit for the fear to fade from Peter’s scent but eventually it’s back to vaguely content.

“My first birthday after my parents died,” Peter says low and soft, barely more than a whisper. “I was really sad… didn’t even want cake— _huge_ for a five-year-old. Told May and Ben my stomach hurt so they’d let me lay on the couch and watch TV all day. I was watching reruns of some show when the news interrupted to report on this guy who was saving people. The Iron Man. And he could fly. Then it turned out he was a crazy rich engineer who used that to help people. It was the coolest thing I’d ever heard.”

Not used to such profuse praise for his altruistic side, Tony finds himself blushing, much to his annoyance.

Peter coughs, clears his throat which is probably irritated from so much talking. But he apparently decides he’s not done yet.

“Then, when I was ten, Ben got us to tickets to Stark Expo.”

He closes his eyes seeming to savor a happy memory.

“I was so excited I wore my Iron Man mask and gloves the whole week,” he says with a raspy laugh. “When those Hammer Drones went crazy… I thought ‘I can stop them.’ With _plastic gloves_ …”

He scoffs.

“Hey,” Tony interjects, “the last time the Avengers fought killer robots, we had one guy with just a bow and arrow and he still kicked ass.”

Peter laughs.

“Anyway, I stretch out my arm. Then this drone points a massive missile at me and I think ‘uh-oh’. But suddenly a laser blast blows it away. For a split second I’m so confused, like, was that me? Then I look around and the _real_ Iron Man’s standing behind me. I knew right then I wanted to be like you and help people when I grow up.”

Peter smiles. “You said ‘Nice work, kid.’”

Tony hums. He wishes he remembered it. There’d been a lot going on, people running and screaming. Vanko had put hundreds of lives in danger in his attempt to kill Tony with those drones, not to mention Tony had been preoccupied, worried about Rhodey whose suit had been hijacked with him in it.

“Last year, when you got mad at me after that ferry mess up, you told me to be better than you,” he said, “but… I still haven’t figured out to be better than the best.”

Tony blinked once, twice.

“Oh, jeez, Bitsy,” he murmured, determined not to get emotional. He’d done that enough over the last few days. “You know, I’ve made mistakes. By the boatload.”

“Trying to keep people happy and safe,” Peter pointed out.

Tony doesn’t argue. That _is_ his _intent,_ even if it sometimes ends up in genocidal AIs.

“I don’t know the whole story with Bucky and your parents but I hope you figure it out,” Peter says. “It’s making you sad.”

Tony sighs and presses the side of his head against Peter’s. “I’m working on it.”

“Either way, I’m on your side.”

By the time Eshmun comes in, Peter’s back to hand gestures and so visibly uncomfortable with the beginnings of a sore throat Tony goes and gets him a mug of hot tea with honey and lemon. But by the end of the debrief, Steve and Bucky have Peter’s approval to return and they’ve agreed to try dinner again in a week. Tony rescues the dregs of the tea from Peter who’s drifting asleep sitting up, lays him down, tucks a blanket over him.

Once Peter’s room is secure, Tony heads upstairs. There’s a lot to figure out in the next week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: Peter’s memory is based on the fan theory that [Peter is the kid](https://youtu.be/j7JPI1RTR2M) Tony saved in Iron Man 2.
> 
> If you ever wondered what the recliner looked like, [here’s what I pictured.](https://ashleyfurniture.scene7.com/is/image/AshleyFurniture/5670352-10x8-CROP?%24AFHS-PDP-Zoomed%24)


	17. Chapter 17

That night, while they’re lying in bed, Tony tells Pepper about Eshmun’s assignment.

“That sounds completely reasonable,” she says. “And impossibly difficult.”

Tony smirks, his face pressed against her belly while she strokes his hair. “Yep. She’s assigned me my own personal windmill to fight.”

Her fingers scratch lightly at his scalp, waiting for him to continue in that patient way she has.

Tony doesn’t say anything. Instead, he keeps his mind carefully blank, rubbing his thumb across the small sliver of skin peeking between the bottom of Pepper’s camisole and the top of the matching shorts. He stretches and presses a kiss there, sending goosebumps racing across the patch of flesh.

Pepper hums in appreciation but her hand in his hair tightens its grip slightly, enough to hold him still. “Which one of us are you trying to distract, me or you?”

“Pep, there is no try. I always have and always will find you incredibly distracting.”

She laughs, soft and agreeable. “Not going to work. Flattery will get you nowhere and you only like me because I don’t find you nearly as distracting as you find me.”

“It _is_ one of the things that makes you different from everybody else around me.”

Admitting temporary defeat, Tony shifts on to his back and scoots up until he’s resting on the pillows, face to face with Pepper.

“I don’t know,” he says slowly. “Everybody keeps telling me he didn’t have a choice. That it was really the Winter Soldier that killed my parents. I guess I have to figure out how to separate the two in my head. See Barnes as _Bucky._ ”

“Sounds like a good idea. Who knows? You might like him. He is a national hero after all.”

“Yeah, yeah. ‘James ‘Bucky’ Buchanan Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country,’” Tony neatly quotes the line included in every U.S. History book produced in the last seventy years. Given the glacial rate at which textbooks were re-issued and adopted, Tony wondered faintly when, if ever, Steve and Bucky’s miraculous and controversial resurrections would make it into the literal history books. So far, the fantastical had been ignored. The Avengers. The Battle of New York. And, Jesus, The Cull. How the hell would they teach that to kids?

“My dad spent decades trying to find Steve and his plane,” Tony says pensively. “If he’d known Barnes—Bucky was still alive, he’d have probably put just as much effort into trying to bring him home, if for no other reason than his connection to Steve. It’s not like I’d be dishonoring his memory by making peace. And my mom would have wanted me to move on and live my life. She would’ve loved you.”

“From what I hear, I would’ve loved her right back. And I think they’d be just as proud of you as I am.”

Tony nestles into his pillow, one arm wrapped around Pepper, ready to go to sleep.

“I’ll probably just take him out. For coffee or lunch, I mean,” he hastily adds when Pepper startles.

“God, you keep me on my toes,” Pepper murmurs, snuggling into him. Her heart eventually calms, her breathing slows, and she slips into sleep. Tony follows not long behind.

* * *

The next day, Tony’s up bright and early, earlier than Pepper which usually only happens if he hasn’t been to sleep at all and they’re passing like ships in the night. But today it’s simply motivation that perked him up the second the sun broke the horizon. FRIDAY has coffee brewing and Danishes heating in the toaster oven by the time Tony reaches his lab.

“Alright, Girl FRIDAY, let’s get to work,” he says as he pours his first cup. “Project Barnes Raising is now a go. I need you to find anything you can get your hands on about James Buchanan Barnes prior to 1945. Omit anything that mentions Steve’s name or aliases more than Bucky’s.”

“Yes, Boss,” FRIDAY says and results start flooding up on his holodeck almost immediately.

Tony figures if he can find out more about Bucky before he was the Winter Soldier or even an American soldier, it’ll be easier to get a feel for the real James Barnes rather than the mythical national hero or legendary ghost assassin. He fans through a few articles before clicking his tongue. “Remove any results that include the words ‘captured’ or ‘prisoner.’”

A solid chunk of the results disappeared, nauseating proof the country’s appetite for the macabre is nothing new.

“Prioritize any articles that use the phrase ‘early life’ or includes photographs.”

Somewhat sadly, this leaves Tony a few dozens short of a hundred search results. He eats his Danish while sifting through them, pulling out a few that used Barnes’ name, picture, and status as a Howling Commando as a draw before shifting to a broader narrative or criticism of the war. He also made note of a few possible leads from now defunct papers that didn’t have online archives, particularly two that looked to be local neighborhood circulars that might’ve focused on borough events and hometown heroes. He takes the ones that look promising and flicks them into a digital folder marked ‘JBB.’

“New search,” he says, pouring another cup of coffee.

“At the ready, Boss.”

“Access Census records George and Winifred Barnes, include additional search tags ‘Rebecca’ or ‘James’. Same prioritization parameters.”

These results were mostly from reporters flocking to interview grieving parents following the death of their war hero son and his famous best friend. Vulture reporters did the same to him following the deaths of his parents and the subsequent anniversaries. Tony can’t help but feel posthumous anger on their behalf.

Trailing non-famous people through the pre-internet age requires time and effort. Tony finally sits, working his way through the rest of his carafe as he reads through the files. George and Winifred’s marriage announcement in a local newspaper. Less than a year later, that same paper featured an announcement from Mr. and Mrs. George Barnes announcing the birth of their first child, James Buchanan. Rebekah, Isabel, and Catherine followed not long after. Over the years, various members of the family had small newspaper features after winning various competitions. Winifred and Rebekah both won numerous ribbons for baking and stitch work. Iron Workers Local 580 recognized George as Welder of the Year in 1940. Bucky won the YMCA welterweight boxing championship three different times. Tony studies the picture attached to that particular article, amazed to see a thinner, scrappier looking Bucky with two human arms in a pair of boxing trunks, hi-top shoes, and raised fists. His hair is cut fashionably short and, despite the combative stance, he looks happier than Tony’s ever seen him.

Another two hours, a few phone calls, called-in favors, and rushed courier deliveries later, Tony’s gathered a small trove of memorabilia on the Barnes family that would make the Smithsonian jealous. A copy of a daguerreotype of Bucky’s paternal grandparents, a black and white photo of George and Winifred sitting for their wedding portrait, a faded photo of the whole family mugging next a shiny Ford Model A at some type of local fair when Bucky was still in the single digits and the youngest an infant. He prints all the pre-war mentions of the family he’d found in addition to a few in-depth interviews where the family discusses their more personal memories of their fallen eldest, clearly their attempts to highlight his value as a unique person they’d loved rather than the patriotic martyr the country loved to idolize. Tony throws in graduation and marriage announcements for Bucky’s sisters, birth announcements and the few pictures he can find of nieces and nephew who lived mainly between the time interest in Bucky faded in the mid-50s and social media took off in the early 00s. Finally, he dug up the inevitable death certificates as the Barnes family slowly died out, starting with George five short years after his son and ending with Rebekah Barnes Proctor who died as the family matriarch and sole surviving member at the age of 90, two short years before they dug Steve out of the ice.

When he’s done, everything printed and packaged, Barnes’ entire family history fits easily inside a 9x12 presentation folder, a very small package for a man whose legend has grown larger than life. It’s not lost on Tony that with this file, he knows more about the Barnes family than Bucky himself. HYDRA _had_ stolen his family from him.

“Alright. Here’s goes nothing,” he mumbles to himself as takes the folder and heads for the elevator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Not so) fun fact: In researching Bucky's family, one timeline has one of his sisters being murdered in broad daylight. It's heavily implied that she was murdered by the Winter Soldier at the command of his handlers after recognizing her brother when he was operating in New York. I personally don't want to live in that timeline...


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for Bucky discussing his time at HYDRA. Not overly graphic or detailed but there are mentions of torture and cruelty.

“FRIDAY, let Captain Rogers know I’m here.”

Tony isn’t sure what his welcome will be. They left off on a pretty sour note. Hell, damn near a brown note. A small part of his pride prickles and snarls that this feels like returning with his tail tucked between his legs and showing his belly. He reminds that idiot part that this is actually him being taking the high road, being the bigger man, et cetera, et cetera.

The front door slides open, interrupting his internal argument, and Steve steps out, looking weary, but not necessarily combative.

“Cap. I come in peace,” Tony says before Steve can start, “I know I’ve been kind of an ass, but I seriously need to talk with Bucky.”

Steve’s eyebrow lifts at Tony’s use of the nickname without any twist or flair. The corner of his mouth pinching, he crosses his arms. “I’m not really sure that’s a good idea. I don’t want him upset again. You guys… you bring out the worst in each other.”

“I know,” Tony admits. “And I can’t swear I won’t upset him again. We have a connected past that has to be dealt with. If you really want us to be friends like you’ve been oh so subtly pushing for, we’re going to have to hash it out, which is why I need to see him.”

Steve stares, undecided. But he still smells only faintly of toasted bread, a sign that he can be persuaded.

“Cap, I promise. I’m not going to hurt him. No yelling. No screaming. Just talking.”

Something on his face must be convincing because Steve sighs, unfolds his arm, and moves to stop blocking the door. “He’s in the shower. You’re welcome to wait.”

He follows Steve inside and they sit in the living room. The TV is muted, the only sounds in the apartment are the air conditioner and the shower running. The silence is sharp and uncomfortable. He and Steve have never been exactly the best of buddies, but Tony liked to think they’d developed a tenuous friendship forged through battle-earned trust. Their disagreement over Bucky strained that as far as it could go without flat out breaking, leaving them with very little to say to one another. Tony hates awkward silences and struggles not to fill it. It would probably just lead to an argument he’d rather not have.

In the end, it’s Steve who speaks up.

“I know we haven’t seen eye to eye lately, that you think that I’m willing to let the whole world burn for Bucky,” he says, “Hell, maybe I am. But you gotta understand. Bucky… he’s my everything. He’s been protecting me since I was five years old.”

Steve smiles, sharp and bitter, glances at Tony and then away.

“He even had my back after I presented and jerks around the neighborhood couldn’t get enough of picking on an alpha too scrawny to defend himself. After we bonded, people would try to pick him up right in front of me.  _While_ I was holding his hand.”

Steve rubs faintly at his mating bite.

“That might not be a big deal now, but it was damned disrespectful back then. Buck wouldn’t put up with it. He’d rip those knot heads a new one even though it was bad form for an omega to confront an alpha.”

“Sounds like my kind of omega,” Tony says wryly.

“I’ll bet,” Steve chuckles, probably thinking of how fearlessly Tony challenges him. But eventually the small smile slides from his face.

“I took the serum because it would make me strong enough to fight for my country, to really go out there and make a difference, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that in the back of my head that I also did it because it would physically make me the alpha he deserved, an alpha who could protect him.”

“Doesn’t really sound like he needed protecting,” Tony points out.

“He didn’t back then,” Steve agrees. “But now? It seems like everybody and everything wants to hurt him. I can’t—I won’t let that happen. I _have_ to protect him.”

“Then you’ll create an unhealthy dependency where Bucky relies on you to filter out all the things that frighten him,” Tony murmurs in echo.

Steve frowns wearily, seemingly unsure what to make of the out of context quote.

“When I woke up in the twenty-first century, I was afraid. Terrified and alone. When I found about Peggy was alive… it was a relief. There was somebody who knew me. Not Captain America, but the real _me_. And when she died, I thought I’d lost my last connection. Then I found out Bucky, my best friend, my _mate_ was still alive and he needed me. I probably went off the rails a little bit. But is there anything you wouldn’t do to save Pepper if someone was hurting her?”

Tony doesn’t bother denying it, gets angry just thinking about it.

Before he can think of anything to say, there’s a small shuffling noise behind him. Clearly Bucky doesn’t care if Tony knows he’s there since he’s capable of moving soundlessly.

“Steve?” Bucky asks, quietly questioning Tony’s unexpected presence in their apartment.

“Tony came to see you,” Steve points out the obvious with a shrug.

Bucky arches one eyebrow and shoves his flesh hand through his still wet hair. “Why?”

“I owe you a rain check on from dinner. Get dressed. Please,” Tony tacks on when Bucky doesn’t budge.

Bucky and Steve exchange a series of looks before Bucky shrugs and heads to their bedroom. He’s back exactly two minutes later in jeans, a long sleeve tee, and his hair scooped back into a man bun that makes Tony snort causing Bucky to give him the stink eye.

“Would you prefer to wait for it to air dry?”

Tony puts his hands up in surrender. “No, it’s just very… millennial.”

Bucky flips him off and reaches for his key card and wallet. At which point Steve has second thoughts.

“Maybe I should come with you,” Steve starts.

Bucky stops him with a single gesture. “No. I’m a big boy. I can handle lunch on my own.”

“I know. It’s just… you guys always end up fighting.”

“And you always jump in before we can really hash it out. We gotta do this one ourselves, Stevie,” he says stepping close to Steve, caressing a hand across his face. They take a moment to rub and scent and Tony, for once, has the good grace to look away and respect their privacy.

“You sure?”

“Positive. Besides, his pew-pew lasers can’t cut through vibranium,” Bucky says holding his metal arm up. “We’ll be fine. We’re just going for sandwiches and a chat. Right?”

“Right,” Tony confirms.

Steve finally lets them go and, for once, looks hopeful.

* * *

They don’t go far, just to the restaurant-style cafeteria on the second floor. Not necessarily Tony’s first choice, but they would probably feel safer in the confines of the compound than out in a public restaurant where anyone could overhear them and they wouldn't have to be as paranoid about lines of sight and escape routes since most of the customers are agents and support technicians who work for the new SHIELD and have clearances that allow them to be in the same building as the Avengers.

They order coffee and a plate stacked with paninis as promised and take them out on the mezzanine which is less crowded than inside the cafeteria itself. Tony got his usual triple espresso. Bucky ordered a ridiculously large and sugary take on the macchiato. He takes a sip and grins.

“Enough sugar in your coffee?” Tony teases.

Bucky laughs and shrugs bashfully.

“Yeah. I got me a bit of a sweet tooth. Sugar’s always been a luxury, I guess. First, it was too expensive. Then the Depression hit and it was rationed so tightly you couldn’t get it. Then the War and it wasn’t available.”

He takes another sip of his dessert in a cup.

“Then I wasn’t allowed to have it. It’s a waste of calories and an indulgence I rarely earned,” he says, clearly repeating something he’s been told over and over. A dark look steals over his face for a moment before he visibly shrugs it off and brightens. “Now that I can pick what I want whenever I want and I can actually keep it down, I have a lot of catching up to do. The twenty-first century has _so_ many options it should be a sin. My super soldier metabolism is the only reason Steve doesn’t have to roll me with a wheel barrow.”

“He’d do it, too.”

Bucky laughs. “I know he would. He’d carry me around swaddled if I said it would make me feel better. He’s a softy, but I love that punk.”

Since they’re hopped on feel good and caffeine, Tony decides there’s no time like the present and slides the folder across the table.

“What’s this?” Bucky asks, cautious but not quite suspicious.

“A little follow up on something you said the other night. Open it. I promise it won’t bite.”

Bucky flips the folder open, turning first one page then next before going back to the beginning. Pictures of Bucky’s family, certificates, announcements, articles. Tony watches as Bucky pores over it, his fingers skimming lightly as though he’d been given something precious and fragile.

“There are also a bunch of clippings from a few local junkets in your neighborhood,” Tony adds. “They never ran outside your borough and they went out of business shortly after the war so not even the museums have any of this stuff.”

Bucky looks up, his eyes bright. “Tony. This… This is amazing. I don’t know how to thank you.”

Tony shakes his head. “You don’t have to thank me. Everybody should remember their family.”

Tony ate half a panini, then the other half while Bucky studied the stuff Tony had given him. He stared at the pictures for long moments.

“Any of it look familiar?” Tony asks.

Bucky shakes his head sadly. “Not really. I get that tip of the tongue sensation _a lot_ but it usually takes a while for the memory to shake loose. This’ll definitely help. I can’t thank you enough. Really.”

Tony let him leaf through the folder in peace for another ten minutes before he bites the bullet and brings up the real reason they’re here.

“What are we going to do, Bucket? We can’t keep beefing.”

Bucky looks up slowly and closes the folder, physically separating that part of his life from this new topic. “I never wanted to fight. The real question is what do you want to do? All I want is forget that part of my life and move on.”

“Could you forgive HYDRA for what they did to you?” Tony asks bluntly.

Bucky’s entire body tenses and the handle of his mug breaks off in his hand, sending the mug wobbling on its base, threatening to tip over, before it finally settles. He belatedly looks at the ceramic curve and flicks the pieces from his hand onto a napkin on the table.

Tony pushes a little further. “If… Natasha was dating one of your former HYDRA handlers and had proof that he was brainwashed the whole time he worked for HYDRA… could you forgive him?”

Bucky blinks slowly, taking careful, measured breaths, but it does nothing to counteract the smell of bitter almonds that’s quickly shifting to burning almond wood. “If Natalia showed up with one of my handlers, proof of his brainwashing, and twenty-five years of personal experience with him suggesting he wasn’t actually a bad guy, I would still have trouble not killing him.”

“What’s the difference?” Tony asks as calmly as he can, fighting to keep cherry wine from souring into vinaigrette.

Bucky pins him with a look, too dead to be a glare but too intense to be a regular glance. “The difference is I still remember the glee they took in breaking my fingers and toes, one by one, over and over because my body would heal so quickly. I remember how much they enjoyed punishing me for daring to make any noise while they did it. I remember how they withheld food and water for weeks until I ‘earned’ it by _presenting_ my fingers and _asking_ to have them broken. Have you ever tried to eat a bowl of soup while all of your fingers are broken?”

Bucky asks as though it’s not a rhetorical question. Tony silently shakes his head no.

“It’s a challenge,” he says with a humorless laugh. “I respect your right to grieve. I did something that hurt you. But the _difference_ is that what HYDRA did to me, they did _to me. I_ was the one they tortured and starved. It was _my_ body they cut up and beat on, _my_ brain that they electrocuted and experimented on, _me_ they held down and shoved their… disgusting knots inside of. And they made sure I knew they enjoyed it. In any of the footage you’ve seen of the Winter Soldier operating, did it ever seem like it was having… _fun_?”

Bucky spits out the last word. His scent is so strong that people across the way in the cafeteria are starting to sniff and turn, searching for the source of the distress and anger. They visibly hesitate when they realize who it’s coming from. Most turn back to what they were doing, but Tony can almost tangibly feel people tracking them.

Bucky closes his eyes and forcibly takes a deep breath. He doesn’t open his eyes again until the charred kindling smell softens to bitter almond.

“When I escaped from HYDRA, I could’ve burned the world down. It’s all over the leaked files, how many people turned a blind eye to what was happening to me. But instead of going for revenge, I tried to get my life back. That was more important to me than making sure the people who hurt me paid.”

“You really don’t want revenge?” Tony asks incredulously.

“Of course, I want revenge,” Bucky says, “But not as much as I want to spend the rest of my life with Steve. And I can’t spend the rest of that life trying to convince you or cowering away every time you decide to lash out. I _won’t._ I’ve spent decades as the dog that gets kicked at the end of somebody else’s bad day.”

Tony studies him, looks away for a moment, before looking back. He can feel the adrenaline surging through his body at the thought of letting this go, never bringing it up again. The thought is equally freeing and terrifying.

“Say it again,” he demands.

“Say what?”

“What you said at dinner, the last time I got mad at you.”

Bucky swallows hard, then looks him directly in the eyes.

“I’m very sorry for the role I played in your parents’ deaths, however unwillingly. Howard was my friend. It makes me sick to my stomach that they used me to go after people I cared about. You look so much like him, it… It’s like seeing a ghost, a constant reminder of the worst thing I ever did. They used me to kill politicians, lawyers, doctors, teachers, housewives, but your parents were the worst… because Howard trusted me. He was my friend and I absolutely hate that I had anything to do with your parents’ death.”

Silence.

“You wanna play Chinese Checkers?” Tony asks suddenly.

“What?” Bucky frowns, confused.

“Chinese Checkers. Come on. My place.”

“Are you okay?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “I’m fine, _Bubbe_. We’re done here. We’re good. Grab your sandwiches.”

Bucky, looking puzzled, grabs his folder, the paninis, and his handle-less mug and follows Tony to the elevators.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I genuinely like both Tony and Bucky. I love CA:CW but simultaneously it bummed me out because it makes it very unlikely that these two will ever be friends canonically. But that's what fanfic is for, right?


	19. Chapter 19

“You know, the Chinese didn’t even invent this,” Tony says as he fishes out the game.

Bucky nods his head knowingly. “It was the Germans. They called it _Sternhalma._ Americans got ahold of it and went with Hop Ching checkers. Eventually, somebody realized how fucking racist that sounded and switched it to Chinese Checkers. Not much better, given that the actual English translation of the original name is ‘Star Jump.’”

Tony lays the board out on the dining room table. “But considering the gameboard is in the shape of a Star of David, names could’ve been worse.”

“Very true,” Bucky acknowledges as he sets up the blue marbles on his side of the board. Tony sets up the gold marbles and makes the opening play. They go back and forth moving the small marbles while Tony peppers Bucky with questions.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue,” Bucky says, indicating his marbles and his t-shirt.

“What’s your favorite kind of ice cream?”

Bucky hums in thought as he hops his marble over one of Tony’s. “I dunno. Dairy products all kinda taste funny to me. You guys do something different with milk nowadays. I guess strawberry.”

“Simple tastes,” Tony says and hops a marble over one of his pieces than over one of Bucky’s.

Bucky shrugs. “I tried one of those fancy kinda ice creams. You know the whole cherry choco chunka whatever. You shouldn’t have to chew that much to eat ice cream.”

“How dare you besmirch Chunka Choco Cherry?” Tony jokes in mock outrage. “The pieces help you slow down and savor it. “

Bucky moves a marble. “If you say so…”

“What’s the weirdest thing about the future?”

Bucky tilts his head, thinking. “How little eye contact you guys make. I mean, I’m used to it. It was an important part of the job. But that was because I didn’t want people to remember seeing me. You guys do it voluntarily. Everybody’s always distracted by their devices. It seems like at the end of the day all anybody should remember is a blur of screens.”

“I guess if you’re used to it, it’s normal. Like in the 30s, you might not have been startled by a horse getting loose in Brooklyn, but now it would trend on social media.”

Bucky laughs. “It’s just a horse.”

Tony shrugs. “Screens replaced nature.”

Bucky executes a series of hops and maneuvers the first of his marbles into the home zone. Tony tuts even though he knew his aggressive strategy left him open to such a move.

“Did you ever try to escape?” Tony asks casually as he moves his next piece.

“According to the files, a bunch of times, but I only really remember twice, both times in New York once in the ’73 and again somewhere in the 90s. I think the memory cues of home were too strong even for the mind wipes and their programming. After the second time, they decided I wasn’t allowed in New York anymore.”

They move pieces in silence for a few minutes.

“Were any of them ever nice to you?”

Bucky purses his lips before shrugging. “Yes and no. Truly nice people don’t last in HYDRA. Too soft. They had me kill more than one person for getting too attached.”

“Jesus…” Tony whispers.

“It was to punish me for letting them get close and to warn any future handlers or support staff what would happen if they tried to be my friend or treat me like anything other than an automated weapon.”

For a long moment, Tony’s gift of gab fails him.

“But you said ‘yes and no,’” Tony prompts.

Bucky sighs. “Some people pretended to be nice. The whole good cop, bad cop thing. The alphas they brought in for my heats… They were always... It would’ve been easier if they’d been mean to me. That’s easy to fight, to resist. But they were so… nice and kind and _gentle_ when I was starving for it that it was nearly impossible to keep myself from bonding even though I knew why they were doing it.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Tony says quietly.

Bucky smiles softly, a little surprised. “Thanks.”

Bucky gets two more marbles in the home zone before Tony is able to do the same.

“Do you have any good memories from when you finally escaped?” Tony asks. “Before Zemo messed it all up?”

“I do actually.” Bucky grins and tells him about plums and open-air markets and _plăcinte cu brânză dulce,_ a fried dessert with sweet cheese and powdered sugar he’d fallen in love with. He talked about the people who’d been nice to him and how odd it had been _not_ to be feared by the locals who considered him weird but harmless.

Half an hour later, Tony’s aggressive play has most of his pieces in Bucky’s home zone, but Bucky’s more strategic style means Tony has to move backwards out of Bucky’s path if he wants to be able to capture the final slots. He’s trying to figure out how to gain ground without giving Bucky a red-carpet path to his home zone when the front door slides open and Pepper walks in.

“ _Sternhalma._ Good,” she says as she leans down and smacks a quick kiss on Tony’s cheek. “Bucky, I’ll have you know we had to have a long talk about how Monopoly does _not_ make friends.”

“I can’t help that I’m uncannily good at being a cardboard real estate mogul,” Tony says.

Bucky hums. “You aint got shit on Stevie. He gets downright vicious. People would be scandalized to find out how much Captain America swears if you break up one of his monopolies.”

“You guys had Monopoly back in ye olden days?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Yes, somewhere between the extinction of the dinosaurs and the birth of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, Parker Brothers put out Monopoly. It was a popular parlor game. Back then a lot of girls’ parents made you stay at their home where they could chaperone.”

“How quaint,” Tony murmurs. “You don’t seem like the type to put up with a lot of chaperoning.”

Bucky shrugs. “Didn’t have much choice when I was chasing an alpha girl. Parents were always hinky about that one because technically either one of us could end up knocked up. People couldn’t really decide what was worse. Your daughter, who is an alpha, let herself be mounted by an omega or your wild alpha daughter got that poor omega boy in a family way.”

Bucky’s exaggerated sympathetic tone cracks Tony up.

“I thought you and Steve had always been together,” Tony asks. “Were you stepping out on America’s Sweetheart?”

“Whose idea do you think it was? It took me forever to convince Steve he was all I wanted.” Bucky pauses a second to check his phone which has just buzzed. He taps the screen a few times before putting it away and continuing.

“He thought I needed to experience other people. Then when we were in the Army, they were worried how people might react if they knew Captain America was mated to a male omega who was also Jewish. So we played it safe.”

“That sucks,” Tony says.

“Yep,” Bucky agrees.

They finish the game with Pepper sitting on the arm of Tony’s chair, one hand rubbing affectionately at the nape of his neck while she ate his leftover panini with the other. Then they switch to _Tsuro of the Sea_ , a turn-based strategy game where rolls of the dice and tile placement decide where the sea monsters are on the board. Players place tiles to create paths but any given roll of the die can cut off their path causing them to 'crash' into the monsters or other players or to sail off the ‘edge of the earth.’ Tony explains the bare bones of the game and they play the first round with Pepper ‘helping’ Barnes strategize and remember how to react to specific roll of the die.

“Oh my god, that’s not fair!” Barnes groans with a laugh when his own roll of the gold die causes a monster tile to be moved into the square he’s occupying, ‘crashing’ his ship.

Steve shows up as they set up for the next round. He looks cautious but hopefully optimistic. The subtle tension in his shoulders relaxes as he draws closer to the dining room table where the smell of almond butter is obvious even to Tony.

“Hey, you made it,” Bucky greets him and tilts his head for a kiss which Steve promptly grants.

“You guys seem like you’re having fun,” he says.

Bucky grins and uses his foot to push out the chair directly across from him. “You gotta play this game. It’s the worst!”

“Okay?” Steve laughs, confused and takes a seat.

* * *

They’re all surprised when Steve checks his watch and reports that it’s half past midnight. After helping Pepper and Tony box up the board games and clear away the cheese, wine, and soda, Bucky and Steve trundle off to their own apartment, but not before promising to stop by for another game night soon. Tony and Pepper collapse into bed.

“Did you get what you needed?” Pepper asks as she snuggles into him.

“Yeah. I did,” Tony answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. That's it for this week. I know I'm technically a chapter short for this week, but the next few chapters have a lot going on for Peter and I want to make sure they're written exactly the way I see them in my head. See you guys Monday!
> 
> Fun fact: Tsuro of the Sea is a real game and very fun to play!


	20. Chapter 20

Eshmun, of course, had been right. It’s easier to focus on Peter when Tony’s not trying to stave off an internal nuclear meltdown about having to interact with Bucky. The one-on-one time had served as a crash exposure therapy of sorts. Now, when he sees Bucky coming his way or going in to visit Peter, he can breathe a little easier reassured it’s not the Winter Soldier. It’s Bucky, the guy who thinks ducks are the best animals because they’re unreasonably cute and hilariously aggressive at the same time. They’re not besties by any means, but knowing some of the quirky things that make James Barnes ‘Bucky’ helps muffle the invasive thoughts about what the Winter Soldier did.

To put the whole issue to bed, Tony makes a point of being there the next time Steve and Bucky are scheduled to visit Peter. Steve, to his credit, doesn’t even tense up.

“Hey Barnum and Bailey, you mind if I sit in with you today?” Tony asks.

Bucky shrugs. “Sure. The more the merrier or whatever.”

If Peter is surprised to see them at the same time, he hides it well. Turns out, Bucky and Peter play cards on the carpet during their time together. They gladly deal him in. It only takes a few plays and a near cracked knuckle for Tony to realize he needs his gauntlet if he’s going to play Slap Jack with a super soldier with a bionic arm and an enhanced kid who doesn’t know his own strength. Regardless, Peter wins despite Tony’s argument that his spidey reflexes give Peter an unfair advantage.

“You seem happier,” Peter says at the end of the night, after Bucky and Steve are gone and they’ve already talked to Eshmun.

“I am,” Tony says, glad that for once, it was the truth.

* * *

After a second dinner followed by a pizza and game night where the only argument was over whether or not Steve cheats at Monopoly (he does), Eshmun decides Peter is ready for an outing. They decide to start small.

“Morning, Aragog,” Tony says strolling into Peter’s room. “Ready to get some medium-quality eats?”

Peter is sitting in the recliner for a change instead of perching on its arm. He’s wearing track pants and Tony’s MIT sweatshirt. His knees are pulled up to his chest and he’s worrying at his thumbnail with his teeth. With the weight Peter has yet to gain back, he looks five instead of fifteen, small and anxious.

“Alright. No need to worry. We’re just going up two levels to the cafeteria. FRIDAY will be watching over us the whole time,” Tony assures him, working to project cherry tarts to ease the fear that has Peter smelling like a tire shop in the summer time.

Without saying a word, Peter nods and slowly pulls himself up and out of the chair. Tony slings a hand over his shoulder and they walk out together, Tony chattering about some upgrades he’s been making to FRIDAY’s holo-display graphics. Peter nods where appropriate but he’s so tense it almost hurts Tony and he smells like a smoldering tire fire.

“Deep breaths,” Tony reminds him. “We’re not leaving the building and everyone down to the waitstaff has already been vetted. We’re a long hallway and a short elevator ride away from your room anytime you need it. Nothing’s going to happen. We’re going to have great day and mediocre Italian.”

Peter nods and takes that suggested deep breath. The intensity of his scent decreases enough that it’s no longer making the hairs on the back of Tony’s neck stand up.

They walk around the mezzanine and stop in front of the Italian café. Peter smiles a bit when he sees Steve sitting a few feet down at the end of the row of tables on the mezzanine. He even has his shield propped up next to his seat. Peter looks at Tony as though to ask if Tony sees him as well.

“He volunteered,” Tony says. “He figured Captain America sitting outside would distract everybody from anybody dining inside.”

It was actually a really kind offer since Steve’s disliked being the center of attention since his forced USO days. Maybe it was a simple way of thanking Tony for the memorabilia he got for Bucky, but Tony thought it was nice to be on the receiving end of Steve’s protective instincts.

They enter the café and, sure enough, the few customers are edged towards the windows trying to get glimpses of Steve. It was a stroke of brilliance on his part to sit where people would have to work very hard and be very still to have a good angle. They’re so surprised and curious, they literally don’t see Iron Man walking past them.

Tony steers Peter towards a seat near the kitchen. It’s busy so people tend to avoid it, but the proximity actually lends itself towards better service since the waitstaff tends to be hovering on the other side of the kitchen door.

“Hi! I’m Mandy. I’ll be your waitress today,” a young twenty something chirps bright enough to make Peter flinch.

Tony catches her eye and makes a motion like he’s turning a dial, signaling for her to lower the volume a bit. She glances at Peter who is looking a little overwhelmed and nods with understanding. Tony orders for both of them, a pepperoni calzone for Peter and chicken parmigiana for himself.

“So, how does freedom lite feel?” Tony asks as he sips his shakerato.

Peter shrugs and toys with the straw in his lemonade.

Tony hums. “You’ve never really seen this building, have you?”

“Just the part of that one floor,” Peter says softly.

Tony has to think for a second before he even recalls it. Happy had brought Peter here a few months back after Peter had stopped a local baddie from stealing a plane full of Avengers tech. Tony had been so proud of Peter, he’d been prepared to give him a new suit and make him a full Avenger. In retrospect, that seems a little nuts. Peter had made the right call, deciding to stay in the minor leagues a little longer.

“Well, if you’re up for it, we can go for the full tour. We can go check out the gyms, we can go down to my lab.”

“That would be awesome,” Peter says perking up for the first time.

Soon, the waitress brings them their food. Peter seems to enjoy the calzone and Tony’s parmigiana is passable. Tony wonders if Pepper and Peter would be up for a trip to Italy when Peter’s back on his feet.

“I was going to ask,” Peter says. “Is Ned okay?”

“Ned? That’s the husky kid you’re always with when you get in trouble?” Tony asks.

Peter smiles shyly and nods.

“He’s fine. He and his parents were all spared.”

Peter sighs in relief.

“You know, if you really want, we could probably convince Dr. Eshmun to work Ned into your visitation schedule.”

Peter smiles brightly. “That would be awesome!”

Tony makes a mental note and drinks a bit more of his coffee. “Okay, so tell me, before all the world-ending drama, what was going on in Peter Parker’s world?”

Peter’s a little hesitant but eventually Tony knows about some jerk name Flash Thompson who will never work for Stark Industries or any of its subsidiaries or affiliates, about Liz Allen who was the prettiest girl at Midtown School of Science and Technology until she had to move to Ohio because her dad turned out to be a pretty prodigious criminal, about Ned being his best friends since first grade and being his Guy in the Chair. Tony listens intently even as he happily notes that Peter’s eaten the entire calzone and drank three glasses of lemonade.

When it’s time to go back in order to avoid the next crowd rush, Peter actually makes an unhappy noise.

“We can go out whenever you want,” Tony reminds him.

“Okay,” Peter says in not quite a pout and flops down on the couch, his eye lids drooping. Tony politely doesn’t point out that Peter’s tired enough for a nap at not even eleven in the morning after only an hour in public.

Tony musses a hand through Peter’s hair and rubs his wrist across the boy’s cheek, marking him with his scent just in case something from today triggers an unexpected nightmare.

“See you later, Bits.”

“’Kay,” Peter mutters.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Tony’s staring numbly at an e-mail marked urgent from the City of Erie’s Medical Examiner’s Office.

“Fuck!” Tony curses viciously.

“Boss?” FRIDAY asks with concern.

Tony sighs. “Get me Eshmun on the phone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to work Ned into this story but couldn't because I was writing from Tony's POV. He wouldn't really be sitting in on Ned and Peter's hangout time and Ned deserves more than a name-drop cameo if I'm going to actually bring him to the compound. In my head, Ned is a beta though. I imagine him as the Sam Wilson to Peter's Steve Rogers or Rhodey to Peter's Tony Stark. And yes, I did describe Peter as being part Steve and part Tony...


	21. Chapter 21

“I don’t understand,” Peter says, his words wooden and stiff. “You said she was safe.”

“I said we were looking for her.”

“Which _implies_ she’s alive to be found,” Peter barks impatiently through clenched teeth, his voice deepening with hints of alpha growl. “You lied.”

He hadn’t. When he’d told Peter they were looking for May, he’d been telling the unblemished truth. What he couldn’t have known was that during The Cull, May was on a city bus which was t-boned by an eighteen-wheeler when both drivers disappeared with no warning, leaving their massive vehicles rolling at high speeds, killing nearly everyone who’d been unlucky enough to be in the intersection at the time. The twenty-two bus passengers, eight people in five different cars, and six pedestrians were just the tip of the dust storm iceberg. The New York City Coroner’s Office, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of people killed collaterally as the result of their pilots, surgeons, drivers and more disappearing at crucial moments, had shipped some of the unidentified victims to neighboring cities and states who in turn did the same as their temp workers struggled to fill in for the more qualified and organized people who normally did these jobs.

May, sans identification, had ended up in Eerie, Pennsylvania. They were first slowed down by the simple act of figuring out who she was and where to start searching for her family. Once she’d been identified, using outdated governmental databases, they’d first tried to call Ben then Mary Parker to no avail. On a whim, someone had googled the name of a nephew listed in connection to the Parker family. They thought he was a five-year-old, but found out he was really fifteen and that May had been his legal guardian. Figuring someone had to be taking care of the kid, they kept digging. The ‘person + relative’ search had triggered one of many parameters Tony had set for all of the Avengers and Avenger-adjacents who’d gone missing and notified FRIDAY who sent out an e-form letter requesting the querying party contact Tony Stark immediately. Tony’s name being instantly recognizable as extremely important, he’d been notified within the hour.

Now, he’s here sitting on the floor of Peter’s room trying to help the kid process that he’s officially an orphan.

“You should’ve let me go look for her,” Peter says bitterly, tugging fibers one by one out of the shag rug.

Tony watches him sympathetically. “Bits, she was… gone… months ago. You going out last week or even last month wouldn’t have changed that.”

Peter’s mouth sets in that froggy little lump of determination, gearing up for an argument before he sighs and goes back to picking fibers.

“She’s been lost and alone. For months. Nobody should be alone,” he whispers, his voice cracking as he tries to remain calm and fails.

His face crumples, finally giving into the tears he’s been fighting since Tony first broke the news and he abandons his slow-motion rug destruction to curl up into a tight, little ball. Times like this, it’s a lot easier to remember that Peter’s just a kid, scared and needing reassurance, already scarred several times over by the harsh realities of the adult world he’s years away from being old enough to actually be a part of.

Tony scooches over and lies down next to him, pulling Peter into him, attempting to console the kid the way he wishes someone had done for him when he was crying after losing his parents. No way would he be the asshole telling Peter to _‘stay strong’_ and _‘put on a brave face’_. Instead, he strokes Peter’s hair as Peter burrows into him, face tucked tight against the scent glands at Tony’s neck, taking deep, sobbing breaths. Tony focuses on giving him the scent comfort he’s seeking and rubs his back until the crying tapers out to hitching breaths which eventually slow and deepen signaling that Peter’s completely out.

And even though he hasn’t done it in weeks, Tony stays where he is. The kid’s right. Nobody should be alone. Tony watches over him while he sleeps, hoping Peter’s dreams will give him a bit of reprieve. The sadness will still be there tomorrow and probably many tomorrows after that.

For now, he holds Peter and tries not to reflect on the bitter irony of Peter’s grief smelling like smoking tires.

* * *

The next day, while Bucky is in with Peter, Tony picks Dr. Eshmun’s brain. They’ve already talked about the general stages of traumatic grief and how those stages look when meshed against the already tumultuous emotional state of being a teenager. They touched on what a setback might look like, but Tony’s now focused on getting Peter through the next few days.

“Should we have a funeral? Should he go? He’s old enough, right?” Tony asks. “I don’t want to scar him.”

“Ultimately, it really should be up to him,” she says. “Unfortunately, he’s already been through this with his parents and his uncle. Sadly, Peter has enough experience with unexpected deaths of family members to decide for himself. But that means he already understands this process. He may want the closure of a service. This might be a healthy way for him to get to say goodbye.”

Tony clicks his tongue thoughtfully and sighs. “I was at my parents’ funeral. It was a freakin’ circus. Everybody showing up to see the last morbid act of the show and gawk at the new boy king. Fucking macabre.”

Eshmun hums sympathetically. “Well, if Peter decides he wants to have a memorial of some sort, he’ll have the advantage of no one knowing who he is.”

Tony nods, again ridiculously grateful he never introduced the world to the Newest Avenger.

“I went to my mom’s funeral,” Steve offers. “I’d just turned eighteen. She’d been sick for over a year. Spent the last few months of it quarantined to the TB ward. I was way too sickly to be allowed to go see her so it felt like she just disappeared out of my life. Her memorial mass helped it feel… I dunno… final, I guess.”

With Eshmun and Steve’s advice in mind and making sure it’s absolutely clear all the financial arrangements will be taken care of, Tony asks Peter if he wants a service.

“Yeah. Maybe something really small. She should be next to Ben and my parents. They’ll be together,” Peter says staring off into space with that detached look that’s already starting to worry Tony.

Tony nods solemnly and sits with Peter for about an hour and they haphazardly snap LEGOs together, creating a wobbly tower to nowhere.

Pepper, the perfect godsend from on high Tony’s done nothing to deserve, arranges the funeral and all the accoutrements around it. Tony pays a small ransom to have May’s body sent back ASAP to Queens from Pennsylvania. They can’t find the living will Peter says May mentioned once, so they go with a casket ceremony. If it turns out later she wanted to be cremated, they can fix that, but not the other way around. Tony and Pepper spend a melancholic afternoon helping Peter pick out a headstone. He finally picks a silver marble one and has it engraved:

_Margaret ‘May’ Reilly Parker_

_Always loving. Always loved_

It’s then that Tony realizes May was even more remarkable than he’d realized. Tony had always assumed she’d taken in her sister’s son when in actuality, May had married in to the Parker family. Ben and Peter’s father Richard were the siblings. May had treated Peter as though he was her own rather than her deceased husband’s deceased brother’s son. Tony’s heart hurts a little more for them both.

Using her magic that allows her to guess sizing at a glance, Pepper gets Peter black slacks, a dress shirt, and a tie Tony helps him with, which makes Peter cry. Apparently, May had tried to help him learn to tie a tie last year for a big dance but he’d never quite mastered it. They fly from DC to New York in one of SI’s private jets. Happy had told Tony that Peter had been over the moon during their flight to Germany and back, but understandably the kid is reserved and quiet now.

It’s a small service with just Tony, Pepper, Peter, Eshmun, Steve, Bucky, and Happy. The priest they managed to find on short notice, a good-natured, older gentleman, says a few kind words, does the introductory rites, reads a short liturgy, completes the final commendation, and gives the rite of committal. Steve, Pepper, and Peter all genuflect at the appropriate places. Bucky, perhaps because he’s Jewish or maybe his life experiences have affected his faith, simply stands quietly with his hands clasped politely. Despite being agnostic himself, Tony bows his head respectfully. He may not know who exactly is out there, but since he personally knows a Norse god and his jackal adopted brother, he can’t exactly rule out the existence of a supreme being.

When the service is over, Tony stands unobtrusively at Peter’s side as Pepper thanks the minister and wraps things up with the funeral director. Steve, Bucky, and Eshmun wait a polite distance away while Happy goes presumably to get the car.

There’s no sign Peter’s aware of any of them. He’s simply staring at his parents’ graves. They share a single headstone:

PARKER

Mary Teresa Fitzpatrick          Richard Laurence

_If ever there’s a tomorrow when we’re not together,_

_There’s something you must remember:_

_You’re braver than you believe, stronger than you seem,_

_And smarter than you think._

_Even if we are apart, I’ll always be with you._  

Beautiful words, Tony thinks morosely. Probably picked when they thought one would eventually go before the other, many years from now, not that they’d both unexpectedly die painfully young, leaving their only child behind.

Peter sighs and _hmphs_ softly. He looks around the cemetery and at the bright, blue sky before his eyes come back to rest on the grave marker.

“Who’d’ve thought my first trip outside in months would be to bury the only family I had left?”

Tony steps in closer.

“As long as I have anything to say about it, you still have family left,” Tony reassures him, throwing an arm around the kid’s shoulder. Peter leans into the touch, but his eyes are still on the tangible reminders of his fallen family and his sorrow is easy to scent.

Eventually, they head back to the hotel. Eshmun checks with them before leaving, but flies home for the night. Bucky and Steve have their own room. Tony, Pepper, and Peter share a two-bedroom Presidential suite so Peter doesn’t have to be alone in a strange place. Not that he’s actually ever alone. The kid sticks to Tony like glue, as though Tony will disappear if they’re out of each other’s line of sight. Pepper takes it all in good stride. Considering the day—hell the year—the kid’s had, Tony’s fine with it, too, giving him all the scent comfort Peter’s willing to take. After a dinner of an extra-large Meat Lover’s pizza and ridiculously decadent pizookies from room service, they all end up on the couch in the living room, watching old Bond flicks. It’s nice. Peter’s scent is content if a little bit sad. Tony’s hopeful that tomorrow will be a better day.

* * *

The next day, Peter refuses to so much as look at Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun(ish) Fact: The epitaph from Mary and Richard’s headstone is from [Winnie the Pooh](https://youtu.be/0Jek6ccb1fg).


	22. Chapter 22

Peter’s being a dick. Tony doesn’t know how else to describe it.

It catches him completely off guard. Peter’s always been so upbeat and sweet, an eager puppy so desperate for Tony’s attention that he simply never thought about how the kid might act towards people he doesn’t like. And suddenly, he _really_ doesn’t like Tony.

It starts in the hotel with little things that can be overlooked like Peter failing to respond to Tony, staring into the distance or wandering off when Tony talks but locking in with laser focus for Pepper.

“My father owned several factories, but none of them manufactured glass,” Tony mutters to a bemused Pepper.

Tony initially shrugs it off. Peter’s not the first nor will he be the last person to decide they’d rather deal with Pepper than Tony first thing in the morning. But then it escalates to things that couldn’t be written off as morning grumps. At one point, Tony nearly has a minor heart attack when he realizes Peter’s nowhere to be found in their suite. Visions of a freaked out, not quite reintegrated feral alpha with preternatural strength roaming the tourist district of NYC has Tony fearing the worst both for Peter and for any unsuspecting people he might encounter if he’s confused or scared. Just as Tony’s on the verge of freaking out and calling the police, Pepper manages to convince him to check with Steve and Bucky on the off chance that they’ve seen him.

“Yeah, he’s here,” Steve answers. “Showed up after lunch. Said you two were busy with air quotes so I didn’t press it. I should’ve. Sorry.”

“No worries. Just keep him in your sight,” Tony asks.

“Will do.”

After he’s off the phone, he turns to Pepper, bewildered.

“What is up with this kid?”

“He’s not the first kid to act out after losing his family,” Pepper points out. “He’s a sweet kid. Maybe he just needs a few days.”

Tony runs a hand through his hair. “I get it. If anybody gets, _I_ get it. But he can’t run around doing whatever he wants. I have half a mind to go read him the riot act.”

Pepper takes him by the hand and pulls him down to sit on the couch next to her. “Babe, Dr. Eshmun warned us he might act out. Yelling at him won’t do any good.”

“It would make me feel better,” Tony mutters darkly, still seriously considering it.

“Tony, my love, I really, _really_ hate to point this out, but Peter’s not fully reintegrated, he’s emotionally distressed, and he seems to be focused on distancing himself from you. If you…”

She pauses for a long moment, clearly hesitant to finish her thought.

“If I what?” Tony asks, not sure he wants to know what Pepper’s tact makes her so reluctant to say.

She takes a deep breath and sighs. “You’re an omega, Tony. If you go in and yell at a semi-feral superpowered alpha, it might not go well.”

And doesn’t that sting? She’s trying to tactfully suggest he stand down because his designation might make the situation worse.

Steve and Bucky assure them they’re fine with keeping an eye on Peter, if a little confused, by their new sullen shadow and his sudden abdication of Tony. They all brush it off as Peter needing a little space after the funeral, assuming he’ll shake it off once he’s back in a more familiar environment.

But when they get back to the compound, it gets weirder and worse. The passive aggressiveness ratchets to actual aggression.

The first time Tony goes to visit Peter, he finds him back in the hidey hole that had been all but abandoned the week before.

“Hey Bitsy, what are you doing back in there?” Tony asks, confused.

Peter ignores him. Until Tony walks closer. Then Peter _growls loudly at him_ and tars the air so thickly Tony has to back up almost to the door to keep from hurling from the amount of adrenaline his omega instincts dump into his blood stream with no warning. Peter doesn’t let up for the full twenty minutes Tony stands there trying to wait him out. Eventually, Tony leaves, afraid Peter’s going to make himself sick. He promises to come back the next day.

* * *

 Tony relays the whole story to Eshmun when she shows up.

“It does sound like he’s experiencing a setback,” she says. “Loss of a caretaker would be tough even if he wasn’t already going through reintegration. I’ll talk to him, see where his head is.”

So Tony sits through Steve’s visit and Bucky’s visit. When he normally would have gone in himself, Eshmun goes in alone. Tony half expects to hear a growl when she goes in on her own, but it’s complete silence. Apparently, Tony’s the only one getting the aggro cold shoulder. He sits to wait, tooling around impatiently on his holo-display.

Half an hour later, she emerges.

“So what’s up, Doc?” he jokes nervously, her carefully neutral face unnerving him.

“He says he’s angry with you for lying to him and he wants you to stop coming in his room.”

Tony blinks, shocked and more than a little hurt. “But… we’re not going to do that, right? That can’t be healthy.”

She tilts her head sympathetically. “We don’t want to turn it into a battle of wills. He’s already learned that he has to be extremely aggressive to get you to back off. We don’t want that feral behavior to escalate.”

“So I’m just supposed to ignore that he’s down here and that he doesn’t have anybody?”

“I know this is going to hurt,” she says softly, “but I need you to hear me when I say it. He’s not alone. He still has Steve, Bucky, and me. We’re his back up support.”

Wow. She’s right. That _does_ hurt. A lot. Tony takes a seat and tries to focus. Eshmun sits next to him.

“We’re going to get him through this. Steve and Bucky will keep working on the integration and I’ll shift to grief counseling. Tony…”

He looks up numbly.

She raises her eyebrows and tilts her head up. “He’s  _testing_ you. He’s lost four parental figures in less than ten years and you’ve promised to man the gap. He’s trying to figure out if your word can be trusted. Don’t let him down.”

Tony nods, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. Eshmun gathers her things. Normally, Tony would hang out with Peter until the kid was ready to turn in for the night, but that’s clearly out of the question. He leaves with an unsure look back at Peter’s connector door.

He’s sulking in his nest when Pepper finally gets home.

“Aww, babe,” she coos sympathetically as she kicks off his shoes and slips down to join him. “Bad day?”

Tony shrugs without lifting his head. “Peter’s still spazzing out. Eshmun says he’s treating me like crap to test how much I care.”

Pepper lays down in front of him and pulls his arms so that they’re wrapped around her. “I don’t know how to break it to you, babe, but you’re the proud new parent of a grieving, semi-feral, fifteen-year-old alpha male.”

Tony scoffs. “This does remind me of bonding with Howard. I just… I don’t understand why he’s only lashing out at _me._ ”

“Because he knows you’re safe,” Pepper says. “Steve’s a much stronger alpha and Bucky’s physically capable of taking on anybody regardless of designation. He doesn’t know how they’ll react if he lashes out at them. But you, he trusts.”

Tony huffs. “And this is my reward for my good deeds?”

Pepper turns in his arms. “Babe, it’s not personal. He’s hurting and he doesn’t want to be the only one.”

Tony considers her words, thinks about all he just went through trying to square things with Steve and Bucky, and nods. That’s a feeling he can understand.


	23. Chapter 23

It’s been a weird week to say the least. Tony hadn’t realized how much Peter’s recovery needs dominated his day to day time and energy until he’s suddenly and abruptly cut out of it, leaving his schedule unusually open. It has him off-balance and out of sorts, constantly battling that nagging feeling that he’s forgetting to do something important. Never one to abide idle time, Tony shifts his attention to the Reappeared recovery efforts.

Although he’s technically looking for any and everyone who went missing, his current fine-tooth comb is focused on one Samuel Thomas Wilson, the Falcon, who disappeared in Wakanda. Steve’s been growing increasingly fixated on finding Sam, his friend who’d helped when Steve had been trying to adjust to life post-ice. Sam also risked his life by giving Steve and Natasha a place to hide when they were on the run from the HYDRA underbelly of SHIELD and fighting alongside them to take down the helicarriers. Most importantly, he helped Steve find Bucky and keep him safe from everyone looking to capture, imprison or execute the legendary Winter Soldier. As far as Steve’s concerned, he owes Sam Wilson the world. With a sudden glut of free time, Tony figures it’s the least he can do while Steve and Bucky are working with Eshmun to help Peter.

“FRIDAY, patch me through to Shuri,” Tony asks, looking up from the message boards he’s been trawling, looking through the listings FRIDAY pulled of Recovered who fit Sam’s general description. This would be so much more efficient if they could put pictures in the databases, but security concerns don’t allow for it. There’s no telling who was an undercover agent or in witness protection before they disappeared and who might be looking for them now that they’re vulnerable and confused.

“Connecting now, Boss.”

Shuri pops on the screen with a pleasant smile and the barely contained mirth and energy only teenagers have.

“Good morning, Mr. Stark. Or for you, I believe, good evening,” she says, noting the time difference.

“Good morning and evening to you, too, Princess,” he answers lightly. “How’s your brother?”

Her grin widens. “We are all overjoyed at his safe return and his restoration to full health will be quick, Bast willing.”

“Glad to hear it,” Tony says truthfully. “Send him my regards.”

Much like Barnes, T’Challa’s enhanced nature seems to have helped him shake off the ill effects of The Cull and gain his bearings much faster than most. He’d reappeared a few countries over, but quickly made his way back to his homeland to the relief of his royal subjects. As both the King and the Ancestral Protector of Wakanda, his disappearance had been one of the most worrisome with the previously isolated country having so recently revealed its vastly superior technology and extreme mineral wealth to the world.

“I most certainly will. Is there something else I might be able to assist you with?” she asks, tactfully questioning the purpose of the call.

Tony hums. “Not really, I guess. Just checking in, seeing if anything’s changed. But you’d call if any of our guys showed up, right?”

Her mouth pinches in sympathy. “Of course. Without delay. However, we’ve had no new returns beyond our own people. But rest assured, we are watching and looking. No one enters our borders without us finding out.”

Tony nods, knowing she could be taken at her word. “And Vision?”

She shakes her head grimly. “We are keeping him safe, but there are no new developments as of yet.”

Vision had been killed, twice, in the Battle of Wakanda, once by Wanda trying to save the world through personal sacrifice, then again by that talking purple scrotum, after reversing time to get the mind stone. Unfortunately, the people who Thanos killed in the lead up to the Snap of Death didn’t return. The universe apparently considered their deaths to be natural and irreversible rather than the fallout of perverted cosmic interference, to the great horror of Thor who’d lost nearly all of his people, including his brother, in the Mad Titan’s campaign to obtain the Space Stone.

Still optimistic, they’ve held on to Vision. Being a synthetic, his body does not decay and they’re holding out hope they’ll be able to find a viable power source to bring him back to life. Until then, the safest and, yes, most technologically advanced place for him to be is in Wakanda.

Tony gives a cursory goodbye and signs off. He hadn’t expected as much, but with all the unexplained things that happen in Wakanda, it didn’t hurt to try. He spends another hour searching, tagging possible matches for Sam and a few that are weird enough to be an enhanced of some sort. Potentially feral enhanced roaming wild and confused are not something the world can handle right now. He works until the ‘Take a Break’ screen Pepper made him program pops up and covers everything, refusing to move until he acknowledges that he’s seen it.

“Alright, FRIDAY, put me through to Natasha, please,” Tony asks as the program minimizes his files. He might as well touch base since he won’t be allowed back in for another twenty minutes without a simultaneous input from both Tony and a second person who’s willing to risk the wrath of Pepper.

“Stark,” she answers sharply. He’s still not used to the blonde hair. It’s a good move, especially for a wanted assassin whose trademark is her bright red locks.

“Hey Charlotte, tell me you got some good news.”

She sighs. “We found Cooper in Oklahoma, scared to death in some state facility. No word on Laura, Lila or Nathaniel.”

Tony rubs his forehead. Nathaniel is less than a year old, hadn’t even been born the last time they were out to the farm. It could be disastrous if he’s gotten separated from Laura.

“Legolas must be beside himself.”

She hums in a grim agreement. “He’s missing his bond mate and his pack. Finding Cooper helped, but… not many of the Returned have been found in pairs let alone a trio. If Lila or Nathaniel came back alone…”

“We can’t think that way, Nat,” Tony murmurs, sending a quick thought to whoever might be listening in the Great Beyond even if they seem to have been ignoring everything up to this point.

“I know. But you don’t have to see him every day.”

As a beta, Clint’s hormones and instincts are probably raging in full fix-it mode which isn’t good. Ironically, despite being natural mediators with an innate ability to calm others, it’s entirely possible for betas to stress themselves to death, over excreting pheromones and finally giving out like an overtaxed heart succumbing to cardiac arrest, a fact many countries and cultures learned the hard way in times of war and famine.

“There’s always room here at the Compound if you guys want or need it.”

She huffs a breath of air, runs a hand through her immaculate bob before shaking her head. “That’s kind of you, Tony, but he’s not going to be able to rest until he finds them. All of them.”

“Understood. If there’s anything I can do to bring the birds home to roost, let me know.”

“Will do. Thanks.”

Once the system lets him back in, Tony works for a little while longer before he logs off for the night. Before turning in, he stops off at Peter’s room as usual. He raps on the door then pushes it open. Peter looks up but turns away once he sees it’s Tony.

“Just wanted to say goodnight. See you tomorrow.”

Not wanting to agitate Peter, he lets it go at that and closes the door. He turns towards Eshmun who’s packing up to leave.

“And you swear it’ll get better?”

“He’s testing you,” she tells him. “Peter’s dealt with an extraordinary amount of death in his life. Now, you’re saying you’ll be there for him, a wealthy, literal superhero who has no biological connection or legal obligation to him. He’s trying to see if he can push hard enough to make you walk away.”

Tony’s determined he won’t. The time they spent together sitting, talking, building with LEGOs, K’Nex or whatever Peter felt up to that day… He won’t let that slip away without a fight.

* * *

Even though Peter won’t talk to him, Tony still shows up every morning to tell Peter where he’ll be that day and goes back every night to wish him pleasant dreams and tell him he’ll be back the next day. The rest of his time he splits between working on upgrades to various systems and armors, actually completing the business-related to-do list Pepper sent him, and searching for Sam and the other Returned.

“Boss, you have an email from the Queensway-Carleton Hospital in Ottawa,” FRIDAY announces.

“Canada?” Tony asks looking up from the 3-D schematics he’s been pouring over.

“Correct. Shall I read it?”

“Yeah.”

“Dear Mr. Stark, I received an automated contact request from your system after entering descriptors for a patient we have been treating. We do believe this patient is an American citizen. Unfortunately, due to privacy laws, we are unable to give any further information via telecommunications, but we would love to reunite this patient with their family. Please contact us at your earliest convenience. Thank you, Emil Martin, M.D.”

Well that was completely devoid of clues. Not even a pronoun to go on. But it has to be one of the Avengers, Avenger Adjacents or Family of Avenger to ping in his system. If they can tell the patient’s American, that probably rules out little Nathaniel who’s barely talking yet. But it might be Sam or any of the Bartons or somebody else he’s forgetting in the moment.

“Compose reply. I’ll be there tomorrow around noon. Thank you for letting me know. End message.”

Tony closes down his work space considering whether he should contact Natasha or Steve, finally deciding on Steve. He doesn’t want to get Clint’s hopes up if it turns out not to be one of his missing and if it _is_ Sam, he’s not exactly Tony’s biggest fan and might not trust that Tony won’t lock him up again.

“Notify Captain Rogers of the situation and tell him we’re wheels up in an hour.”

He quickly packs a bag and shoots a message to Pepper explaining what’s happening. She’s away on a business trip, but if they get wrapped up and he can’t call, she’ll worry.

Lastly, he heads downstairs to let Peter know he’s going to be gone so the kid’s not worried if he doesn’t pop by again tonight or tomorrow morning. Shifting his overnight bag in one hand, Tony knocks on the door, then turns the handle, but it doesn’t open.

“Sorry, Boss. Nesting Protocol has been engaged,” FRIDAY informs him.

Tony frowns. “Peter doesn’t have system credentials to engage Nesting Protocol. Override it.”

“The protocol was engaged by Sergeant Barnes.”

If Tony had been drinking anything he would’ve done a spit take. “What? Why?”

“I’m not at liberty to say, Boss.”

Tony tilts his head back, scrunches his eyes tightly closed, and takes deep breaths, refusing to overreact. He told Bucky and Steve about Nesting Protocol so they could have ‘alone time’ without worrying about being interrupted. Bucky—Bucky would never… After the things that have been done to him, he would never cross that line, especially not with Peter. _Under Tony’s roof_. Tony won’t even entertain the thought.  He won’t. Assuming the worse always causes big blow up arguments that could’ve been avoided if they just talked like rational adults.

Tony puts his overnight bag down and runs his hand over his face. “FRIDAY, Captain Rogers and I are about to leave for the possible recovery of The Falcon. That’s three Avengers which basically makes it an Avengers Assemble, one of the exceptions for interrupting Nesting Protocol. Would you please inform… Sergeant Barnes that I’m outside and I need to speak with him. Now.”

FRIDAY doesn’t reply and Tony takes her lack of argument as acquiescence. He waits for a long moment before the door locks release and Bucky steps out, looking flustered and a little wary.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” he says quietly.

Tony sniffs lightly. Bucky smells like he’s been wearing a leather jacket in the sun while eating warm almond butter. Tony’s not an idiot.

“I know. If I really believed it was, you’d be dead no matter what I had to do to make it happen.”

Bucky blinks at him with those stupid puppy dog eyes that always make Tony want to punch him. He knows it’s the fear HYDRA trained into him that makes Bucky react like a whipped puppy whenever he thinks someone is upset with him, but act like a fucking man sometimes, damn it. Tony has the right to be upset without feeling guilty about it.

Leaning around Bucky to look into the room, he makes eye contact with Peter who’s huddled on the recliner looking a combination of smug, angry, defiant and scared. Definitely a kid who’s played his ace in the hole and now is worried he overplayed his hand. Tony turns his focus back to Bucky and explains the notification he received, knowing that Peter’s enhanced hearing will pick up every word.

“We’re going to go check it out, bring him home if it is him. I’ll be back tomorrow,” Tony says calmly.

He doesn’t say anything directly to Peter. He grabs his bag and leaves before that irrational side of him that doesn’t like to be slighted can get the better of him. But instead of going to the jet to wait for Steve for another forty-five minutes, he goes straight up to his apartment to his emergency nest. He just needs a few minutes alone to gather himself.

“FRIDAY, dial Pepper,” he says once he’s burrowed in the corner.

“Tony, what’s wrong? I’m freaking out a little. I’ve gotten three missed calls in the last three minutes from Bucky who’s never called me before then Steve who almost never calls, and now you. Is Peter okay? Are you okay?”

Hm. Word travels fast. “You’d be proud of me, Pep.”

“I’m always proud of you,” she says so genuine and sweet it hurts.

“Yeah, but today, Peter intentionally used Barnes to try to hurt me and I didn’t lose my shit. I kept my cool and walked away.”

Pep doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “Wow. That’s… amazing. Babe, what happened?”

Tony sighs. “I’m pretty sure they were comfort scenting. I think he got used to it with me and he probably misses it. Bucky’s an omega he kinda trusts and it’s not like Steve will really mind with Peter being a kid and all.”

Pepper murmurs in sympathy. “Babe, I’m extremely proud of you. I know how easy it is for you to think the worst when it comes to Bucky and to Peter’s safety.”

Tony hums in thanks.

“Why would Barnes let him do that?” he asks, genuinely confused. “Like, we literally just got past the ‘I don’t trust you around my friends and family’ thing and the one time I had Steve scent me for science, you could almost see him visibly freaking out about it.”

“He probably wasn’t thinking,” Pepper says. “It’s not like if _I’d_ asked him to scent me. That’s a clearly drawn line that he absolutely understands. With kids, it’s different. I imagine he sees a lot of Steve in Peter. Young boy whose parents are gone. Lots of courage even though he’s had a shitty life. Little guy with a big heart. And you of all people should know how hard it is to say no to Peter.”

“True,” Tony says with a rueful laugh. He checks the time and sighs. “Alright, Pep. I gotta go.”

“Okay. Be safe. I love you. Don’t get into a fight with Steve.”

“Okay. I will. I love you, too. I won’t,” Tony reels off with a smile. After he grounds himself for a few moments more, he gets up, straightens his hair and clothes, grabs his bag, and heads for the helipad.

“Tony, Bucky—” Steve starts as Tony nears the jet ramp.

Tony holds up a hand and walks around Steve to the pilot’s chair. “Can it. We’ll figure it out when we get back. Let’s go see if we’ve found Sam.”

Steve blinks then nods hesitantly and takes his seat, letting Tony pilot in peace. Tony takes the jet up, watching the compound grow smaller and smaller. He lets himself sink into flying, one of the few parts of his life that he never has to question and it never questions him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things I like writing: 1) Pepperony and 2) people handling emotional conflict like a reasonable adults instead of flying off the handle. Can you tell?


	24. Chapter 24

When they arrive at the hospital in Ottawa, it does in fact turn out to be Sam. Steve, elated to see his friend and brimming with joy and relief, steps up close to Sam’s bed, leans over, and calls out softly.

“On your left.”

Sam blinks awake, his eyes darting for a second before they focus, and his mouth slowly pulls into a drowsy but happy grin. It’s obviously some sort of in-joke between the two of them. Trying to give the friends their privacy, Tony stands off to the side with Sam’s physician showing him the paper work to prove Sam is who they say he is and that he’ll be safe with them.

According to the doctor, Sam’s doing fairly well. He’s been in QCH’s care ever since they found him wandering near a military base about two weeks back. After determining he was a Returned rather than a threat to national security, they hospitalized him to treat the dehydration and exposure he’d suffered. Beyond occasional moments of confusion when he’s tired, he seems relatively fine.

“My best guess is his military training helped him stay calm and flexible under the mental and physical stress,” the doctor hypothesizes.

Tony agrees. Military training and his therapeutic knowledge of coping techniques probably helped.

“You ready to blow this popsicle stand, Polly?” Tony asks once he has care instructions from Dr. Martin in hand.

Sam looks at him, scrutinizing Tony. “Depends. I’m not crazy about being laid up in the sick bay, but it beats the hell out of the last accommodations you set me up with.”

Tony holds his hands up in surrender. “You died trying to save the entire galaxy. As far as I’m concerned, you’re free to move about the cabin.”

“And anybody who doesn’t think so will have to deal with your mom,” Steve chimes in. “She’s been on me to find her ‘baby.’”

Sam’s brows pinch in concern. “She okay?”

“Yeah, I checked in on her and your sisters, the kids. Everybody’s fine. They’re just worried about their Sammy,” he reassures with a teasing smirk.

“Hey, now,” Sam chides. “The only people who get to call me that are women, children, and the elderly.”

“I’m the elderly,” Steve reminds him, his satisfied grin growing smugger.

Sam’s eyes dart to Tony, eyebrows high, mouth pinched with amusement. “Remember he said that! You’re my witness.”

“Duly noted,” Tony agrees to Steve’s playful displeasure.

They get Sam a pair of scrubs to replace the free-flowing gown and check him out of the hospital. Then on to the next stage of Operation Falcon Rescue: finding the wings he’d been aware enough to hide before going for help.

“This would be easier if Shuri hadn’t disabled the tracker I put on your wings,” Tony grumbled as he signals and merges into traffic while Sam peers out the window looking for something that will jog his memory of where he’d been.

“Wouldn’t have had to if we hadn’t been worried about your tech leading Thunderbolt Ross right to Wakanda,” Sam shoots back.

“Oh, hell. What a shit show that would’ve been,” Tony admits.

“I dunno. I kinda like watching T’Challa talk to him like he’s a simpleton,” Steve laughs. “And I think he’s afraid of Okoye.”

“Is that the bad ass bodyguard lady?” Tony asks.

“Mm-hmm,” Sam hums in appreciation.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Sam, she’d eat you for dinner.”

“I can think of worse ways to go,” Sam says bluntly and there’s no arguing with that.

After a few false starts and more than a few U-turns after they pass CF Base Kingston, they eventually reach the Marlboro National Forest which pricks at Sam’s memory. They climb out and start trekking.

“Sam, this is almost _seventy miles_ from the military base,” Steve says, his features growing more and more dismayed as they walk further and further into the woods.

“Why do you think it took so long for anybody to find me?”

After another thirty minutes, in which Tony has plenty of time to consider how fortunate they are Sam hadn’t died long before making it to help at Kingston, they find a Mounties’ cabin that’s been defaced with a rather crude mud drawing of hieroglyphic wings. Sure enough, Sam’s mech unit is hidden in a closet under a bunch of thermal blankets.

“Way to think on your feet,” Tony praises him.

Turning back, they’re lucky to make it back to the car before dark. It’s been a long, tiring day so Tony gladly springs for a hotel where they can clean up and rest. After a long, hot shower, Sam orders beer, steak, and frites for them all from room service at Tony’s urging. Sam groans not quite pornographically with every bite while they all watch _Transformers_ and Tony points out how they could take down the Decepticons if they ever needed to. It’s fun in a way he hadn’t realized he misses. The Avengers as a whole haven’t had a chance to hang out since before the whole Ultron debacle and Tony realizes he misses the easy camaraderie they once had. If they ever get everybody back, he’ll have to fix that.

But for tonight, when Tony falls asleep, he rests a little easier knowing that today he’s done a good thing.

* * *

Sam’s barely at the Compound long enough to get a set of clothes from their ‘You never know who’ll drop in and what state of undress they’ll be in’ supply closet before he’s off to see his family.

“Tell Darlene I said hi,” Steve says at Sam bundles into the back of a taxi.

“Will do,” Sam assures him. “She’ll probably have a cobbler whipped up for you real soon anyway.”

Steve moans in anticipatory delight. “My cobbler better not have scoops missing this time or I’m ratting you out.”

“Snitch,” Sam says with a laugh and waves before his cab takes off.

Once the car is out of sight, Steve looks at Tony. “Thanks. I really appreciate your help. Making sure he’s safe… I don’t know how to pay you back.”

“You’re looking out for my friend, I’m looking out for your friends. No biggie,” Tony says with a shrug and heads back into the compound proper.

When he gets up to his apartment, Bucky is hanging around his front door looking forlorn. Tony can almost feel his good mood crashing down and he scoffs out a laugh.

“Buckaroo, this is getting ridiculous.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” Bucky says, his scent bitter and anxious.

“I’m not mad at you. Never was.”

Bucky raises a brow. “Really?”

“Not about this,” Tony clarifies honestly. “This is between me and the spiderling. You just got caught in the middle. Don’t worry about it.”

“You sure?” Bucky asks hopefully.

“Positive. He’s mad at me and he knows you’re sometimes a sore spot for me. But I don’t have to get riled up every time somebody pokes the bear.”

“Okay. I didn’t mean to get in between but he just… All he asked for was a hug and I could smell how sad he was and he looked at me with these big eyes…”

“You got suckered by a pair of puppy dog eyes? Oh, the irony,” Tony laughs.

Bucky smiles but it’s a confused tilt of his features which makes it all the funnier since he seems to genuinely have no idea what Tony’s talking about.

“Don’t worry about it. We’re good,” Tony repeats. “Peter and I have some issues to work out but if he asks for another hug in the future, go for it. I trust you and it’s not about the hug. You did nothing wrong. _Te absolvo._ ”

Tony makes a half-assed sign of the cross and sends Bucky on his way. He’s got some thinking to do and then there’s going to be some talking.

* * *

“Alright, Bitsy. You don’t have to talk, but I need you to listen,” Tony says coming through the door. Peter’s sprawled on his bed and clearly caught off guard. He sits up and his face crumples in irritation but Tony’s not putting up with that today. He sits on the recliner and sits forward, his attention focused on Peter.

“You’re having a hard time. I get it. I do. I lost my family when I was a little older than you are now and I was still a mess. What you’re doing now is little league peanuts compared to some of the major league shit I pulled. But Peter…”

Tony sighs and rubs a hand through his hair, looking away before looking at Peter whose face is a little more neutral now.

“I’ve bent over backwards to get you whatever you need _before_ you need it. And no, you don’t have to be grateful for it. That’s not part of the deal. Kids are supposed to take adults for granted. I signed on to take care of you no matter what. But the Barnes thing… Can we both agree that was intentional?”

He looks at Peter who has the good graces to look guilty.

“Look. It’s not that you can’t hang out with Barnes or get scent comfort from him. That’s not what this is about. If that’s what you want, you have my expressed blessing. I’m not trying to control you. My problem… My problem is the look… that smug look you gave me when you saw my reaction,” Tony says, a small bit of anger leaking into his voice, “like you _enjoyed_ my being upset.”

Tony looks Peter square in the eyes and speaks slowly and clearly. “I never signed up to be your emotional punching bag.”

He holds the stare until Peter looks away, not something an alpha would normally do in a confrontation with an omega, but maybe a sign that Peter actually understands the other dynamics at play.

“I think… I think sometimes people forget I’m not just some emotionless mad scientist slash money man running around being zany and dropping impeccable one-liners. And maybe that’s my fault,” Tony says with a thoughtful shrug. “But like my boy the Bard said, if you prick me, I still bleed.”

Tony sits silent for a moment.

“The thing that initially drew me to you… was how kind-hearted and altruistic you can be. The kid I met a year ago? He didn’t have a single cruel bone in his body and I don’t want to be part of creating one. I’ve created enough bad guys.”

Tony pauses, trying to figure out how to phrase what he wants to say.

“I’m not exactly crazy about how you treated me, but if you knew how Bucky has been manipulated and… _tortured_ with comfort scenting and scent bonding, you’d be _horrified_ with how easily you decided to use him as your stone to kill two birds.”

Peter blanches and his mouth drops open for a second before he musters up any words. “I didn’t think—”

“I know,” Tony interrupts. “But the Peter that I’ve always believed in, the Peter I’ve always supported _would have_. The Peter I know is considerate and selfless. If being around me is… corrupting you, teaching you to ignore how your actions might affect other people if it gets you what you want… then we have to find somewhere else for you to be. It’ll suck not having you here, but I can provide for you anywhere in the world. Hell, I know a guy who runs an entire school for gifted kids like you.”

Peter’s eyes go wide and wet. “No! I don’t—"

Tony stops him with a hand. “I _want_ you here, but only if _you_ want to be here and if it’s good for you.”

“I don’t want to go,” Peter mumbles and Tony feels sick to his stomach, hearing that phrase echo morbidly in his head. But he stands his ground.

“We both need some time to clear our heads and think. Day after tomorrow, we’re gonna talk about where you want to go from here. If you _really_ need me, just tell Eshmun or Steve or Bucky or activate the Call FRIDAY app on your StarkPad and she’ll pass your message along.”

Tony stands and walks to the door, for once ignoring the tarry scent of Peter’s distress. Before he exits, he turns back.

“And for future reference, don’t drag Steve and Bucky into your disagreements with me. It’s not fair to them. They’ve waited seventy years and fought Nazis and entire governments to be together and happy. They don’t need our issues dragging them down.”

Tony’s not sure if the soft _I’m sorry_ as the door clicks closed behind him is Peter or his own wishful thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact  
> In case you're curious, in my 'verse: 
> 
> Alpha: Captain America, Happy Hogan, Quick Silver, Scarlet Witch, Spider-Man, Thor, Black Panther, The Wasp, Nick Fury, Agent Coulson, Peggy Carter, Maria Hill
> 
> Beta: Falcon, Hawkeye, Pepper, Loki, War Machine, Ant-Man, Peter Quill
> 
> Gamma: Hulk, Vision, Thanos
> 
> Omega: Winter Soldier, Iron Man
> 
> Unknown: Black Widow
> 
> If there's anybody you're curious about that I didn't include, just ask!


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this took some time to craft, but it's done to the best of my abilities. It's really two chapters but they're so entwined I couldn't figure out where to break them up. I am not a lawyer nor do I play one on TV. My experience with the legal system is limited to daytime TV Court (shout out to Judge Mathis) and jury duty (and I'm always dismissed as a potential juror). Any mistakes are mine, but they're made in a good faith effort. If you do know the actual law and I wrote something particularly egregious, let me know!

Over the next two days, Tony focuses on finding leads on the Returned. Getting Sam back home to his family was a really good feeling and, right now, Tony’s like the rat in the Skinner Box pressing the pleasure lever. There have been several more sightings that highly suggest there’s at least one very powerful, possibly feral enhanced (or PFE as Tony has decided to call him or her) roaming the Eastern Seaboard, but the speculation is based purely on the destruction and theft left in their wake. Nobody’s laid eyes on the PFE. With nearly all of the magic-wielding Avengers unaccounted for, there’s not much Tony can do but monitor from a distance. If the destruction seems to be heading their way, he’ll round up geriatric 1 and 2 and go investigate, but beyond that he’ll have to wait until he has a better feel for whatever powers the PFE may have to ensure they have countermeasures in place.

Tony’s also scouring databases and message boards across the country for lost and found kids. He’s determined to return Barton’s baby birds. It’s a wildly depressing search, the sheer quantity of lost and displaced children. Kids who can’t find their parents, parents who can’t find their kids, and no reliable, standardized way of bringing them back together. Most kids barely exist at the federal level beyond their social security numbers. Their digital trail is wider at state level because of school enrollment, but states are terrible at communicating with each other, particularly non-neighboring states. Usually, if a child goes missing, the FBI is called in, but the federal bureau is in no way equipped to deal with tens of thousands of missing children simultaneously. So, most searches now depend on digital word of mouth. Social media sites are straining under the stress, inundated with pictures, videos, descriptions, and pleas for help. News stations have taken to splitting their screens 24/7 with programming in the top two-thirds and descriptions and pictures of missing children or children who have been found but not identified running on a ticker in the bottom third, a somber twist on Wednesday’s Child. Tony’s offered to create software and algorithms that might help speed up the process but many state and city governments are afraid of anything that could be interpreted as tracking software in the aftermath of Project Insight. Even though it could potentially cost lives, Tony understands their fears and the overabundance of caution when dealing with minors.

Natasha sends pictures of Laura and the kids along with accompanying detailed, written descriptions of every identifying mark and idiosyncratic trait Clint can remember for each. Somehow, knowing Nathaniel has a shelled peanut-shaped birthmark on his bum and that Lila is missing her lateral incisors both top and bottom, giving her a winsome woodchuck smile, makes Tony all the more determined to find them. He sets up the algorithm alerts for all missing members of the Family Barton, simultaneously hopeful and afraid of getting a response.

As the day winds down and his stomach begins to growl, marking the time, he shifts his focus to his own found kiddo and the promised conversation they’re going to have. He knows what he’d prefer, but as a great philosopher once said, you can’t always get what you want. Tony’s tried to make sure Peter is comfortable here, but he really meant it when he said he’d send him away if that’s what’s best. Hell, he’d survived boarding school and he hadn’t even wanted to go when Howard first sent him away. Eventually, he’d even looked forward to the freedom of the start of term and getting away from his father’s never-ending omega shaming and dreaded the semester breaks that meant he’d have to come home. Tony doesn’t want that disdain and disconnect with Peter. If he wants a fresh start where no one knows him, Tony will make it happen.

“Alright, Pete,” Tony says as he enters the room at his normally scheduled visitation time. “What say ye?”

Peter’s sitting on the shag rug, one knee drawn up to his chest, fiddling around with some Lincoln Logs, forming what might be a trebuchet if he had a little glue. Tony notes that Peter is wearing his MIT sweatshirt.

“I want to stay here with you,” Peter says, peering up at him like he’s afraid Tony might turn him down. “I’m sorry I was being an ass hat.”

“Language,” Tony barks automatically and then cringes as he hears himself.

“Don’t tell Cap I said that,” he says with an annoyed huff and eases down onto the rug across from the kid.

Peter nods and his shoulders slump further which didn’t seem possible but somehow is. “I didn’t mean to be… such a jerk. It’s just… everything in my head is confused and mixed up _all_ the time. I just… I can’t…”

He looks off, staring blankly for a long moment before he speaks again.

“Dying was scary.”

Tony’s stomach flips and swirls. They’ve never talked about this. Eshmun had told him not to push, saying Peter would share what he wanted if and when he was ready. And apparently, he’s decided he is. But Tony’s not sure he’s ready to hear it. The whole thing still feels like his greatest failure, pretty stiff competition on a list that includes weapons of mass destruction, murder bots, and the bodies and broken bones of people who were foolish enough to believe in him.

“You know, I could see you and hear you,” Peter says, “but I could… I could feel myself fading away and I couldn’t make it stop. And then… nothing. I don’t remember anything. No bright light, no pearly gates, no brimstone and fire. Just… _nothing._ Like I didn’t exist anymore.”

Peter shivers, scratches a hand through his hair uncomfortably, trying to get rid of the goosebump sensation. He bites his lip and huffs a deep breath then topples his would-be catapult with a casual flick of his fingers. Tony only barely resists the urge to pull him into a hug. Barely. But he doesn’t want to do anything that might cause Peter to stop talking. If he finally wants to share the chaos that’s been swirling in his mind, keeping an otherwise upbeat, cheerful kid unhappy and off-balance, Tony’s all ears.

“It was kinda like… like going to sleep,” Peter continues, voice dull and monotone, “but without the dreaming and the only reason you know you were asleep is because you when you wake up you can tell time has passed around you. Everybody says it was six months, but to me, it only felt like… like a really long blink. And I was… groggy… like how sometimes you go to sleep and you wake up, but it’s the middle of the night so you don’t know how long you’ve been asleep?”

Tony nods. It happens to him a lot, particularly when Pepper’s not around to keep him on a reasonable schedule. He succumbs to exhaustion rather than intentionally going to bed so his sleep quality’s not the greatest.

“It was a little like that, but worse,” Peter says.

“Did it hurt?” Tony asks, even though he’s afraid of the answer.

Peter pauses, tilts his head in thought. “Not really. If I’d been ready to go, it probably would’ve been peaceful.”

Tony’s not sure what to think. None of his brushes with death have been peaceful. They’ve been painful and horrifying, driving him to gladly drown at the bottom of the bottle to get away from the flashbacks and nightmares.

“Did coming back hurt?”

Peter shrugs a shoulder. “I don’t really remember. When I got back… Everything before my, um, before my… rut… is kind of a blur. I remember being outdoors at the, uh...”

“The National Mall,” Tony fills in.

Peter hums and nods in agreement. “Yeah. I’ve been there before. School field trip.”

“When you told Happy you were on a debate trip but you were actually vigilante-ing without a license? I remember.”

Peter smirks proudly for a second before sighing. “When I was walking around, I could tell people were talking to me but the words didn’t make any sense no matter how hard I tried to understand them. My brain, my instincts were telling me not to trust anybody, that nobody was who they said they were and they were just trying to get close enough to hurt me, maybe kill me. It was like my… spidey sense had been turned up to a thousand. That’s why I kept flipping out.”

“Happens to the best of us,” Tony says. “Once, I spazzed out on a little kid in a restaurant after he asked me what it was like inside the worm hole. You disappeared mid-battle and came back pre-rut in a different place surrounded by strangers. Had to be super stressful.”

Peter nods and falls quiet, apparently all talked out. His scent is begging for reassurance, the look on his face is painfully unsure. Tony doesn’t leave him hanging.

“Bring it in,” he says, scooching back so he can lean against the base of the recliner and lifting an arm.

Peter gives a small, closed-mouth grin, scoots until he’s sitting next to Tony, and leans into him, inhaling deep and long.

Tony lets him scent for a few minutes before breaking the silence.

“So what do you want to do, Bits? If you’re going to stay here for real, we have to have a legal connection so I can do things like school enrollment and insurance and whatnot on your behalf. And so that no matter what happens in the future, if I get in trouble or you get in trouble, no one can take you away.”

“A legal connection? You talking adoption?” Peter asks, his features dropping into a slight frown.

“If you want.”

Peter pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his chin on them. “There’s no other options? I mean, I really appreciate it, I do, but… May legally adopted me after Ben died. We aren’t related by blood and she didn’t want anybody to be able to take me. She raised me most of my life, but as far as the world’s concern, that paperwork is my only connection to her. I don’t wanna… I don’t wanna undo that.”

Tony understands. As much as he fought with Howard, he proudly wears the Stark name, in hopes of keeping his mom’s memory alive, hoping that every time someone sees him or hears his name, they’re just as quick to think of her as they are of Howard.

“That’s fine. How about legal guardianship then? I wouldn’t be adopting you, but instead just going on record with the courts saying that I’ll take care of you, make sure you have what you need, and can speak in legal and medical matters for you.”

“Yeah. Okay,” Peter says with a nod, his scent lighting to a more content fragrance. “Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

Tony frowns. He hasn’t heard Peter directly address him in months. “Well, if I’m going to be your legal guardian, we might as well switch to Tony.”

“Um… Ok. Tony,” Peter tries. The name clearly feels unfamiliar in his mouth, but they’ll get there.

Tony gives a couple one-handed taps to his holo-deck display for FRIDAY to contact his lawyers and set an appointment with DCFS and the family court. Then he hangs out with Peter, listening to podcasts, a comfortable routine he’s glad to have back.

* * *

 

Becoming Peter’s legal guardian is not cut and dried. As expected, there are no other interested parties, so there’s no fight there. The difficulty lies in convincing the court that Tony is the best guardian for an impressionable minor. Not that there are many families looking to foster a recently presented, emotionally traumatized Alpha, even with no one knowing about the enhanced part. But Tony, for better or worse, is both famous and infamous for his unpredictable behavior. The court wants reassurance that Tony will help Peter become an upstanding citizen rather than contribute to the delinquency of a minor. That might seem like a no-brainer given his years as Iron Man, but that’s only if the judge is completely unfamiliar with Tony’s wild past. And Tony’s honest enough to admit, any judge that oblivious is not fit to sit on the bench.

They’ll have to go before a judge and prove he’s fit. He calls his attorneys who, after being calmed and assured that this is not a secret baby situation with an angry mother will at some be coming after Stark Industries assets, draw up a petition. They also remind him to bring in PR for the eventuality that some intrepid reporter finds out what’s going on and decides to twist this as ‘Tony Stark has a secret love child. Therefore, the Avengers should all be arrested.’

A week later and they’re in court (Tony’s least favorite place to be, although it’s not so bad when he’s not being sued or prosecuted). Pepper’s done her magic again. Peter’s wearing navy-blue chinos, a crisp, white long-sleeve dress shirt, and dark brown, leather shoes. Tony’s wearing one of his trademark three-piece suits and Pepper is wearing a complementary white lace dress with a navy-blue blazer. They practically look like a nuclear family already.

“Anthony Edward Stark,” the judge, the honorable James Pattison, reads slowly from his paper work before looking up to peer over his glasses in amused surprise. “This should be interesting. Let’s get on the road before somebody finds out you’re here and this turns into a three-ring circus. Counselor?”

Tony’s attorney Eric presents his petition requesting full, legal guardianship of Peter. He lays out Peter’s current family situation, presents the judge with Richard and Mary’s death certificates, Ben and May’s adoption paper work, and their subsequent death certificates. He also shows their investigative efforts to prove that they’ve done due diligence in trying to find any family that might have a say in Peter’s care.

“Thank you, Mr. Ford,” Judge Pattison says. “I’ll take these documents into consideration. Madame Counselor how will you be petitioning today?”

Peter has a guardianship attorney, separate from Tony’s attorney, who argues in favor of Tony being granted guardianship as being in Peter’s best interest. Vivian comes with glowing recommendations, a reputation for fierce advocacy for children regardless of what the adults want, and a promise of discretion.

“I’m here today to represent the minor, Peter Parker. He is in agreement with the petitioner and asks that the court grant Mr. Stark full, legal guardianship post haste.”

The judge nods, strokes his Santa Clause-esque beard as he looks over the documents.

“Thank you, Ms. Mills. I will take that under advisement. But if you don’t mind, I have a few questions. As a family court judge whose job is to look out for the best interest of the minor child, I have concerns that need to be allayed before I can consider placing a minor in Mr. Stark’s care.”

“Of course, your honor,” Eric agrees. Vivian seconds him.

“Mr. Parker, in your own words, how did you come to know Mr. Stark? There are no right or wrong answers, son, I’m just establishing information,” Pattison assures him.

Peter nods and leans forward in his seat. The Avengers PR team had gone over this with him dozens of times, making sure he knew exactly what to say not to draw unwanted questions.

“I e-mailed Stark Industries asking for a summer internship, every contact I could find on the website. They didn’t have anything established for high school kids, but I’ve always admired Mr. Stark and really wanted to meet him and get to learn from him.”

“That’s impressive initiative. Good for you,” the judge says with a friendly smile. “And Mr. Stark, out of all the kids in New York, why did you pick Peter?”

Tony leans forward, intentionally gives a small smile rather than his press-killer mega grin. “This is going to sound crazy, but he was the only person his age to try. I get hundreds of e-mails every day asking for jobs, for funding, for free products. But he was the only one to say ‘I just want to learn.’ I found it very… refreshing.”

The judge gives Peter an admiring glance, clearly buying into their kismet story. It almost makes Tony feel bad for making it up.

“I see in the paper work that you were one of the poor souls caught in the Cull. We’re very glad to have you back, son.”

“Thank you, your honor,” Peter answers.

“That said, Mr. Stark, please explain how your previous connection lead to you having physical custody of young Mr. Parker.”

 Tony explains about him being found on the National Mall, fudges a bit about Peter being somewhat coherent enough to say he needed to get to Tony, talks about not being able to contact May and about Peter’s obvious and imminent pre-rut symptoms.

“So, I took him in, gave him a private space. We were able to get him through his alpha presentation and then focused on reintegration.”

“’Got him through his presentation?’ You procured services for a minor?” Pattison asks with a raised brow.

Tony shakes his head sharply. “No, sir. That would be _wildly_ inappropriate. We provided him with the necessary aids and a safety den.”

“Is that true?” Pattison asks Peter.

Having turned bright red over the last few minutes at the embarrassment of sitting in a room with a bunch of adults discussing his first rut, Peter nods his head.

Satisfied for now, Pattison shuffles through his papers.

“I’m not finding any records of... Has Peter been receiving any educational instruction in the time he has been staying with you?”

“No, your honor,” Eric interjects. “Because Mr. Parker was being treated for ferality, the focus has been on the reintegration process. Then the death of his established legal guardian in an accident created by the Cull again shifted focus. However, if given guardianship that allows my client to act on Peter’s behalf, Mr. Stark will make sure Mr. Parker has the best educational instruction available.”

The judge nods and makes a few notes.

“Okay. An uncomfortable question: Giving your designation as an omega, Mr. Stark, what would you do if Peter, who according to his paper work is an alpha, nearly adult, decides he doesn’t have to respect your authority as his guardian?”

“It’s a valid question,” Tony replies, trying not to let on how sore a subject this is for him. “But there have been mixed-designation families forever. Omega fathers have alpha sons. Beta mothers have alpha daughters. Gamma parents have beta kids. We don’t expect them to give up their kids just because there’s a perceived power imbalance.”

Tony shifts in his chair, glances at Peter before looking back at the judge.

“I’ve had Peter for a little over two months. When he first showed up, he was completely feral and quickly going into rut. I made sure he had what he needed to deal with that. Then just as we were making progress on reintegration, we discover that his aunt had died which was very painful for him. And I helped him deal with that. I’m not going to pretend we’ve gotten along one hundred percent every second of that two months, but I promised to take care of him and despite the trauma, the loss, and the hormones, he’s sitting in front of you calm, coherent, and asking to stay with me. And whatever’s next and whatever’s after that, I’ll help him deal with that, too, and him being an alpha and me being an omega won’t change that.”

The judge considers for a moment then nods and makes some more notes.

Pattison then questions Tony’s past behavior, which was to be expected. He questions whether a person with a history of legal problems, substance abuse issues, and who currently moonlights as a sanctioned vigilante can provide security for a dependent ward.

“If something were to happen to you the next time the Avengers are called, what provisions are in place to ensure Peter’s continued care? How can you be sure that no one will attack him as a way to get to you?”

Tony explains about the trust fund he’s already set up for Peter to be used for his care and schooling if something happens to Tony. He explains his plan to amend his living will to make Pepper Peter’s guardian if need be. He also explains about the level of security and guards that will be used to safeguard Peter both at the compound and at school.

Pattison frowns. “But wasn’t your agency infiltrated by HYDRA?”

“I’m not at liberty to speak on that, your honor, as that information is still classified by the DoD. But let me ask this, how do you know that any home you send him to isn’t run by covert HYDRA agents looking for promising children to indoctrinate?” Tony asks. “You may or may not know Black Widow’s backstory, but the KGB would murder entire families and then arrange for the surviving daughter to be placed in a specific orphanage where they were then brainwashed and trained to be femme fatale assassin spies.”

Judge Pattison looks deeply troubled by the idea, understandable since he’s responsible for the placement of so many vulnerable children. He makes a few more notes then gathers his papers.

“The court declares a thirty-minute recess during which I will contact the psychiatrist who’s been working with Peter. After I’ve spoken with her, I will declare my ruling.”

Forty-five minutes later, Tony’s cleared as a probationary guardian for ninety days to be converted to permanency contingent upon the satisfactory completion of three surprise visits from a child advocate of the court. After haggling to make sure all court visits are from thoroughly vetted agents to make sure no crafty spies can use the process to gain access to the compound, they’re headed home.

That night, everybody gathers at Tony and Pepper’s to celebrate with root beer floats and monopoly. Steve gets to cheat and everybody else gets a sugar high so there are no complaints. The room smells like the best type of bakery with warm almond butter sandwiches, warm cherry pie with gingerbread crust, and an out-of-place but very welcome leather jacket.

Tony’s nearly floating on air until FRIDAY discreetly flashes a notification across his holo.

_Email from the Medical Examiner’s Office in Fredericksburg, Virginia_

Tony’s stomach drops as he excuses himself. In the quietness of their bedroom, he taps the screen to open the message.

He rubs a frustrated hand over his eyes and gives a heavy sigh.

“FRIDAY, patch me through to Natasha.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. The next few chapters are going to be slow going so sorry if they don't show up until next week. We're nearing the end of the story and I have to make sure all the loose ends get tied up and everything makes sense. We're in the end game now. *Sobs Dr. Strangely*


	26. Chapter 26

Natasha, Clinton, and Cooper arrive at the compound six hours to the minute from when Tony contacted Natasha. The building and surrounding grounds are dim and quiet, most of the residents asleep, the night staff going about their routines on the lower levels and outer perimeter, most oblivious to the quinjet gliding quietly onto the helo-pad. It’s only an hour or two before the twilight, but Tony waits. He’s never been able to sleep when his friends might be in trouble, might need him.

De-boarding slow and stiff, Clint looks exhausted, deep bags marking a clear sleep deficit and darkening the skin under his bloodshot eyes. He’s wearing washed-soft jeans, an open plaid button down with a faded t-shirt underneath, more casual than Tony’s ever seen him outside of his farmhouse. The deep wrinkles in his clothes silently betray that his wardrobe is more out of ease of wear than a conscious choice for relaxation. His body language is the opposite of relaxed, tense and weary. He’s only a step or two away from making the walking dead look lively, and he smells like damp denim, a far cry from his usual scent of laundry fresh out of the dryer.

“Stark,” Natasha greets Tony with a sharp acknowledging nod of her head as she comes to a stop next to Clint at the base of the offloading stairs, schlepping three duffle bags Tony’s smart enough to know not to offer to carry for her. She looks much fresher than her traveling companion, her black yoga pants and hunter green top fastidious but deceptively low-key. He’d bet his next prototype that Natasha’s carrying at least three different types of weapons in that seemingly pocket-less outfit. She smells like a light dusting of cinnamon but Tony doubts she’s actually feeling all that content but rather is probably capitalizing on her eerie ability to manipulate her scent to broadcast the emotion of her choosing. The sweet tease of cinnamon woos in the unwary, the ginger warns of a stinging bite, and woe be to the moron who doesn’t run at the first hint of eye-watering wasabi.

“Thanks for the lift,” Clint says quietly, his voice raspy and strained like he’s been talking for hours on end. Maybe he has. There’ve probably been countless days and nights contacting any authorities, family or friends who might have a lead for Clint to run down in search of his missing family.

He’s holding a sleeping Cooper whose limbs are wrapped around him like a Velcroed baby monkey. At ten, he’s probably a little too big and a little too old to be carried, but after everything they’ve been through in the past six months, it’s not surprising they’d be gun-shy about losing physical, tangible contact with each other. Tony sure as hell won’t be throwing any stones as long as they’re all hanging out in his glass house.

Tony sets them up on the floor between his and Steve’s. There are enough beds and bedrooms for each of the Bartons, both present and unaccounted for, plus Natasha to have one to themselves, but unsurprisingly, Clint deposits his son in the master bedroom. Once Cooper’s tucked in safely and comfortably, the first hint of Clint’s fraying composure slips out.

“When can we go?” Clint asks when they’re back in the communal area, far enough that their voices won’t wake the sleeping child but not so far that Clint can’t see the still-ajar bedroom door from where they are.

“The ME doesn’t open until eight AM,” Tony answers after a quick glance at his smart watch. “That’s five hours from now. You should get some sleep.”

Regardless of the outcome, tomorrow’s going to be draining and Clint’s going to need his strength.

“I can’t sleep until I know,” Clint snaps tersely. The muscle in his jaw ticks and he sighs. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to bark at you. I’m just… I’m really tired.”

Tony waves his apology off. “All the more reason to rest.”

Clint shakes his head. “I—I can’t. Not until I know if it’s her.”

Tony glances at Natasha who just shrugs back. If she’s not forcing the issue, Tony won’t either.

“Okay, well, we’ll just hang out then.”

Clint starts to shake his head. “I’m not really in the mood...”

“Too bad,” Tony chirps and curves around the sofa to flop down on one end. “Avengers means family and family means nobody gets left behind.”

Clint stares at him for a long moment then rolls his eyes and rounds the couch to join Tony. He flops down and tilts his head back to look at Natasha. “I don’t remember him being this kumbaya the last time we met.”

Natasha flicks a look at Tony and then shrugs and climbs over the back of the couch to slide down next to Clint. “Nothing like a galactic battle to change your priorities.”

Tony toes off his shoes, pulls his feet up onto the cushion, and unfurls one of the throw blankets. “FRIDAY, put on The Mighty Ducks. The first one, then the second one, but not the third one. The third one sucks.”

“There’s a Mighty Ducks 3?” Clint asks with a confused squint.

“Exactly.”

* * *

Clint’s already up and moving when Tony stirs from where he’d curled up on his corner of the sofa. Warm breakfast smells scent the air, tempting all sleepyheads to get up and at ‘em. From all appearances, Tony’s the last to heed the lure of day. Clint and Cooper are already up and the closed bathroom door at the end of the hall lets him know where Natasha’s gone off to.

Tony shuffles sleepily into the dining room where Clint’s apparently whipping up a buffet. Clint’s ease and economy of motion in the kitchen suggests it’s a deeply ingrained routine. There’s a mountain of food, more than Cooper and Clint could possibly eat alone. It’s enough for a family of five twice over at least. Cooper’s slumped at the head of the table, quiet and half-heartedly pushing chunks of pancake and egg through a river of syrup. Both he and Clint are already fully dressed in fresh clothes. Tony takes a plate even though he doesn’t really like breakfast beyond coffee and a sugary carb. Natasha, who’s now joined them, does the same without having to be clued in. Maybe it’ll be easier if there’s not a mound of uneaten food staring back at him. If not, they’ll sic the super soldiers so the veritable feast doesn’t go to waste.

“Clint, I think we have enough for everyone,” Natasha tells him softly.

Clint startles out of wherever his thoughts where his thoughts had drifted while he stirred the latest batch of scrambled eggs. He looks over at the table, the seats that are still empty, and back at his skillet.

“Yeah. I guess so, huh?”

He scrapes the steaming hot eggs onto a serving platter and joins them at the table. They eat in an uneasy silence, the clattering of utensils the only noise as they all silently dread what might come next. Tony finds most silence uncomfortable, but this is unbearable, which is saying something when past uncomfortable meals have included Tony’s greatest hits of telling Bucky he was glad the Barnes’ all died thinking he’d been killed by Nazis and telling his own parents he’d be too busy partying to miss them during their final breakfast together before his parents were killed.

Tony makes it through half a pancake and a cup of coffee before he can’t take it anymore and needs respite. “Okay. I’m going to go clean up and get dressed. Let’s meet at the helo-pad in, let’s say, twenty?”

Clint nods absent-mindedly, his actual focus on watching Cooper eat. Natasha murmurs her agreement, stands, and is gathering plates to take to the sink when Tony slips from the room.

When Tony finally arrives at the prep room leading to the helo-pad, he’s taken aback by the smell, an unholy amalgamation of earthy mildew and sinus-burning, ginger-y wasabi. Clint and Natasha are both tense while Cooper clings to his dad, skinny arms wrapped tightly around Clint’s waist. It takes Tony only seconds to get a read on the situation.

“Barton,” Tony says hesitantly. “This isn’t really a PG outing, you know.”

“He stays with me,” he says stubbornly and clearly not for the first time.

“Clint,” Natasha says softly but exasperated. “If it is what we think it is, he shouldn’t see it. That’s not a memory he should have to live with.”

Cooper whimpers. “I want to stay with my dad.”

Clint looks down at his son and his scent intensifies, his distress coming through sharply, torn between wanting to do what’s best for both of his kids even if those two things are in direct conflict. “I’m not leaving him alone.”

“You don’t have to,” Tony assures him.

“FRIDAY already told me Steve’s at some kids’ charity gig and Pepper’s away on business,” Clint says, clearly suspicious of Tony’s assurances, running a hand through Cooper’s hair. “I feel bad for Barnes with all the sh-stuff he’s been put through and I believe in second chances, I do. But not enough to leave him alone with my only… with the only family I’ve found so far.”

Tony swallows hard, but doesn’t hesitate. “Peter’s here.”

Natasha raises one perfectly arched brow. “The kid from the airport?”

Tony nods.

“How is he here? Nat said he…” Clint sighs and starts to shake his head. “Doesn’t matter. He’s a kid, too. Barely older than Cooper.”

“He’s fifteen and now a full-fledged alpha.”

Clint’s eyebrows shoot up.

“No sh—No kidding,” he corrects his language automatically, even in his surprise. Natasha doesn’t look quite as surprised and is obviously storing this information for future reference even as she stands calmly off to the side.

“We can take Cooper down to Peter’s room, let him hang out there. It’s the safest place in the whole building because I remodeled it for limited-access after Peter came back feral and about to go into… R-U-T,” Tony finishes lamely with a quick glance at Cooper.

“He’s eleven, he can spell really well, and we’ve already had the birds, bees, and bonding talk,” Clint scoffs with a soft eyeroll as Cooper shifts uncomfortably. “But seriously, I can’t leave my kid with some half feral teenager.”

“He’s fine. We’ve worked through that with a psychiatrist and everything. And he’s never been physically violent,” Tony points out truthfully. “Besides, if Cooper hasn’t presented, he’s probably safer than anybody else in the compound around Peter. Peter’s natural alpha instinct would push him to protect Cooper, a pup, against any threat. Plus, you know he’s not just a regular kid.”

Clint makes a clicking noise, considering but still not sure.

“And on the off chance that something unpredictably crazy happens,” Tony continues, “they’d be locked inside a hard to access room and FRIDAY would contact us, Barnes, and Steve while working to keep them unreachable.”

Clint looks at Natasha for her opinion.

“We can go check for ourselves, but Tony wouldn’t recommend it if he didn’t think it was safe,” she said.

Clint’s scent softens to damp denim and he relents. “I have to check it out first.”

“Of course,” Tony says and has FRIDAY warn Peter their own their way in case he’s still asleep or doing some weird teenage alpha thing that he won’t want interrupted.

When they get there, Cooper only takes a minute to warm up after he sees that Peter’s reasonably close to his age and friendly. Actually, it probably has more to do with the gigantic tub of LEGOs and K’Nex Peter was sharp enough to pull out from under his bed and place in plain, titillating view.

“I’ll watch over him, Mr… Hawkeye… Barton. Mr. Barton. Sir,” Peter stumbles in that nervous way he has whenever faced with a new hero from his childhood.

“You can call me Clint. It’s fine,” Clint says. “I’m not much on formality.”

“Yeah. Okay, Mr… Clint, I mean,” Peter says, flustered.

Natasha roams the peripheral of the room, carefully hands-off, not marking anything with her scent, merely observing and scrutinizing. However eager he is to help, Peter’s attention is split between Clint, Tony, and Cooper on one side of the room and Natasha a tad bit rudely wandering through his space on the other. Tony watches for a bemused moment before he wisely inserts himself between his two favorite spiders when Peter gives the first indication he may suicidally be considering scenting Natasha to see where she lies on the ABO spectrum.

“Hey, Widow,” Tony calls out softly. “Take it easy. He’s a brand-spankin’ new alpha, fresh out the box, he’s never had so many new people and smells in his den all at once, and he’s already aware that you’re deadly when crossed.”

Natasha angles her head, sizing Peter up, then nods and joins Peter and Tony closer to the door where they’re trying to unobtrusively give Clint space while he psyches himself up to leave Cooper for a few hours. Clint hugs his son tight, nuzzles his neck to scent him, and then presses a kiss against the top of his head.

“I’ll be back soon, buddy, okay?” Clint whispers, clearly trying to keep his scent even so he doesn’t freak out Cooper who’s much calmer now than he was in the prep room.

Clint stands and walks back to the group.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

* * *

They get to the medical examiner’s office at 8:22, twenty-three minutes later than Clint would’ve preferred, and Clint is nearly on the ground before the stairs have time to fully deploy. Following behind at a more reasonable pace, Tony really regrets eating breakfast. Unrelenting anxiety combined with an unexpectedly heavy meal is making his stomach swirl and bubble unhappily. But he knows the sick-to-his-stomach feeling he’s experiencing is nothing compared to what Clint must be going through. The mildew smell is overwhelming and honestly giving him a headache. His omega instincts fire and misfire, keeping him on edge in response to Clint’s distressed beta pheromones. The pheromone capability makes betas bellwethers, their moods spreading easily to those around them. Tony’s trying his best to keep his scent at cherry wine, cherry tart feeling out of reach for now. Despite her skill, Natasha’s oscillating between cinnamon and ginger, perhaps because of her much deeper personal connection to and affinity for Clint and his family.

The ME meets them at the door of her offices. Mousey but competent looking, she’s calm and completely devoid of scent. A gamma. What a fitting occupation for someone who has no scent influence and can’t be influenced by scent.

“Thank you for coming in so quickly. It’s a pleasure to meet you although I wish it was under far better circumstances.”

She explains the situation, warns them the body has already begun to show some signs of decomposition but asks them not to focus on that. Clint’s breath hitches at her warning and Tony has a rare moment where his lifelong alpha-envy is eclipsed by a sudden pang of wishing he was a beta so he could anchor his friend who’s struggling to hold it together. He puts a hand on Clint’s back, can feel him tremor, can feel his own head swim as Clint all but bleeds pheromones in his attempt to calm himself.

The ME goes back into her workspace and they step up to the viewing window. The curtain whizzes back suddenly, a bit startling, and she reaches for the intercom button.

“I’m going to pull the sheet back and show you her face. If you’re not sure, but can remember identifying marks elsewhere, let me know.”

The tremors get stronger and Tony reaches to wrap his arm around Clint’s waist, to hold him up if needed. He bumps into Natasha’s arm. She’s already had the same thought.

The ME respectfully folds down the sheet and a face comes into view. Clint gasps and his knees buckle for a microsecond before he’s back on his feet.

“No,” he whispers. “No, it’s not her.”

“It’ll be okay, Clint,” Tony assures him. “We’ll make sure she’s taken care of. Get her back home where—”

“ _No!”_ he says shaking his head, looking at Natasha then Tony and back again. “I mean, it’s _not her._ That’s not Lila.”

“Are you sure?” Tony asks then looks behind Clint to check with Natasha. He only met the girl once for a few minutes, three years ago during one of the most stressful weeks of his life.

Natasha squints with focus, peering down at the disfigured, bloating face. “Maybe… Maybe not? I mean, at first glance it looks a lot like her…”

“But it’s not!” He points to his own chin. “I forgot about it ‘cause it was so recent but she has a scar, barely healed on her chin from where Cooper dared her to backflip off our swing set. She landed on her ass and the swing came back and clipped her on the chin. Took four stitches to close.”

The ME steps up to the body, leans in and peers at mottled skin around the chin. She looks up.

“There’s no indication of any previous pre-mortem injury or cell repair to the chin.”

“Oh, thank God!” Clint cheers then abruptly remembers where he is and his face colors in shame. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t be happy. That’s _somebody’s child._ But Jesus, Tash, that’s not my Lila.”

The last few words are set in a smaller and smaller voice until Clint has no voice left. His face crumples and he sobs, his scent thick with relief.

“It’s okay to be relieved it’s not her,” Natasha murmurs pulling him into a hug, rubbing his back, letting him tuck into the scent glands at her neck. “She’s still out there and we’ll find her.”

Much like Clint, Tony feels terrible for whatever family is still waiting to get this particular bad news, but he’s glad it’s not Clint. He leaves his card with the ME, tells her to contact him if no one claims the girl within her office’s time limits and he’ll cover the cost of her burial and gravestone. Then he ushers his friends back to the quinjet.

Natasha scents with Clint the entire flight, helps him calm down and even out before he gets back to Cooper. Technically, Clint’s nightmare isn’t over, but Tony’s glad this isn’t the way it ended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact:  
> I chose Natasha’s scents of cinnamon, ginger, and wasabi because they’re all ingredients that are pleasant in small amounts but will mess you up if you try to take in too much at once. They’re also palate cleansers that let you go quickly from one dish to another, much as I imagine Natasha being able to go from one role to another without people noticing.  
> I chose Clint’s scents to represent how he fades into the background but makes a big difference in how everyone around him functions. Fresh towels after a shower, fresh sheets on the bed at the end of the day. Best smell ever. Jeans got wet while you were running through that unexpected downpour? Wet denim will keep you uncomfortable until you get it in gear to find dry clothes. Mildew? It’s not easy to see, but you can definitely smell it and it will make you sick if you don’t do something about it.


	27. Chapter 27

Over the next few weeks, the mood at the compound is… oddly pleasant. The addition of Clint, Cooper, and Natasha to the mix gives everyone more reason to leave their usual spaces and opportunity to socialize and interact. Game night gets even crazier (and Steve’s cheating somehow even more egregious) and they start up a non-mandatory but open-invitation movie night. The familiarity amongst them, long strained, begins to ease back into place. That’s not to say no one ever puts their cranky pants back on. None of them are exactly ‘well-adjusted.’ Peter, as a new alpha with enhanced senses, still sometimes gets abruptly overwhelmed by the smells of others and needs a few hours alone to mark his space. Natasha periodically disappears to who knows where to go do sneaky spy shit presumably. Bucky has the occasional nightmare or bad day that spirals him into the sullener side of his personality. When he retreats, so does Steve. And Clint, while hopeful most days, has trouble sleeping and stretches of feeling useless where he can’t focus on anything but the missing members of his brood.

Still, the overall net effect of the combined group is positive. The abundance of trusted, skilled, and superpowered adults in a secured building who would gladly fight to the death to ensure his son’s safety gives Clint a chance to legitimately rest. The combination of unique personalities and quirks initiate several interesting friendship combos. Natasha’s good for Steve who is fond of her from their multiple stints together as rogue agents. Bucky and Clint get along surprisingly well, both content to sit back and observe for the most part. More often though, Bucky can be found with Natasha, the two of them in their own little world, conversing in fluent, familiar Russian. Tony’s never thought of either of them as chatterboxes, but around each other, they’re like long lost siblings catching up. Sam, feeling better, pops in from time to time, and he, of course, gets along with everybody. It all makes Tony very happy.

“Look at you. You look like the cat that got the cream,” Pepper remarks one day with a small smile while they’re settling in for a cuddle and to re-watch Dirty Dancing for the umpteenth time. It’s a rare occasion where they’re both at home during the day.

“If my peeps are happy, I’m happy,” Tony replies with a shrug.

Cooper and Peter are particularly happy, getting on like a house on fire. Cooper’s lack of designation and hormone scent makes him much easier for Peter to deal with for long stretches of times, which Eshmun says is a good thing because it makes socialization feel less monumental and more of an everyday activity. Tony finds himself agreeing. Once he’s really out of his shell, Cooper’s a bundle of energy who pushes Peter to come out of his room in search of more ways to entertain his new friend. Clint and Tony take turns chaperoning from afar while the boys gorge on pizza and soda in the compound’s Italian cafe. Bucky and Steve watch and sometimes join in when the kids are racing around the indoor track in the gym. Steve reports they both seem to have an affinity for the rock-climbing wall. Tony wonders vaguely if it reminds Peter of his more high-flying adventures, but is really just glad to see him out and moving around.

When Tony hangs out with him in the afternoon now, Peter’s pre-Cull enthusiasm and chattiness pops up more and more. Having another kid around has given both Cooper and Peter something else to focus on besides the crappy few months they’ve been having. Cooper is noticeably saddened when Peter has to be isolated again for rut, even though he understands it happens every three months, and his not being able to visit Peter is not personal.

Tony visits Peter the morning after his rut ends. Tony doesn’t even have to ask before Peter’s on the recliner and waiting eagerly for Tony to settle in. It’s a little awkward, knowing why Peter is all spacey and boneless, but the kid needs scent comforting after four days of isolation and having to go through rut, which is supposed to be a partnered bonding experience, alone. Secondary puberty shifting to start sooner while bonding has shifted to happen later is one of the issues ABO service has been struggling with in their restrictions against servicing minors. Tony’s not so old that he doesn’t remember how touch starved he felt after his first heat. His mom stepped up for him and Peter will one day have to do it for any kids he might have.

“So, you’ve been hanging out with Cooper,” Tony asks as Peter snuggles against him. “How’s that going?”

“It’s good,” Peter says with a shrug. “It’s like having a little brother or something. I know it’s not permanent or anything, but it’s kinda trippy having somebody around who thinks everything you say or do is interesting and cool, ya know?”

Tony barely suppresses a knowing smile. “It really is.”

“What do you guys talk about?” Tony asks out of curiosity.

Peter inhales deeply and is distracted by scent marking. It takes him a moment to answer.

“Ahh… just stuff. He wanted to know how I know you guys. I gave him the line about the internship.”

Peter shrugs.

“He probably won’t be around long enough to ever find out the truth, so it’s probably okay. He asked if I have superpowers like Cap or Thor and me living here was part of my secret identity.”

Tony lifts an eyebrow. “Smart kid. What did you tell him?”

“I told him I didn’t think anybody had superpowers like Cap or Thor, but maybe one day I would. Then I got him to tell me about what superpowers he would want.”

Tony chuffs out a laugh. “Nice deflection. Very masterful, grasshopper.”

“I don’t know if Clint’s talked to him yet, but he wanted to know what ruts are like.”

“You didn’t—”

“No! Of course not. It’s personal and it’s not my place. I know that. But I don’t think he really wanted _that_ kind of information. He was more interested in if I knew I was going to be an alpha. He wants to be a beta like his dad. Says his little sister is Lila is so bossy she’s probably going to be an alpha and it would be cool to be able to control her without her realizing it. I told him that’s not considered good beta behavior and could get him in a lot of trouble.”

Tony scoffs. “Yeah, he’d better not let his dad hear him talking about using his natural abilities to control somebody else.”

It doesn’t escape Tony’s notice that the possibility of presenting omega doesn’t factor into Cooper’s musings. Nobody dreams of growing up to be an omega unless their grand plan is to be a sugar omega, pampered by their sugar Alpha. Then again, maybe Tony’s just being touchy. He’s living proof that omegas can be independent and successful even if it’s less common for omegas not born into obscene wealth like he was.

“Your scent changed. What’s wrong?” Peter asks, confused.

“Nothing,” Tony says, shaking off the dour direction his mood has taken.

Peter’s more than happy to let it drop, more interested in satiating his need for scent and touch than falling down the rabbit hole of Tony’s psyche.

* * *

Their case worker, Nayelli Jacobs, shows up for the first time two days after Peter’s rut ends, very lucky timing. Tony shudders to think how it would’ve looked to the courts if she wasn’t allowed to see Peter upon request. Thankfully, Peter’s available, even if he’s still a little off-kilter. Tony’s not allowed to be in the room while she interviews Peter in order to ensure that Peter feels free to answer truthfully, so he warns her Peter might be a bit out of sorts so soon after his rut cycle.

“Peter’s not the first teenager or alpha I’ve dealt with,” she assures him.

Tony’s hanging out in the connector room, waiting on the verdict. Cooper eventually joins him, eager to spend time with Peter after nearly a week away. And with his baby bird out of the nest, Clint eventually follows. Clint and Tony are talking about the PFE Tony’s been tracking who seems to be in a holding pattern in Philly, halfway between New York and D.C. Clint thinks the power usage looks familiar but can’t quite put his finger on it. They’re still brainstorming when Ms. Jacobs emerges.

“What’s your name?” she asks brightly, extending her hand towards Cooper.

Cooper shakes her hand but looks at his dad for guidance. Clint subtly signals against giving his name before looking standing to address Ms. Jacobs herself.

“Ma’am. Do not include him in any reports. Not any name you may have heard from Peter, not his description, not his connection to anyone here. That’s by order of the DoD which I can get you a copy of, if needed. I know you know who I am. Officially, I’m single, profoundly deaf, living in a New York City slum with a one-eyed dog named Lucky. That’s how I keep him safe. If I ever hear anything different, you’re the only person outside of my personal circle who knows. And I promise, I won’t be pleased.”

Tony slides in smoothly, needing to save the well-meaning child advocate from the ruffled papa bear.

“Well, she signed a non-disclosure agreement that she could only report things that are immediately related to Peter’s welfare and even then, only to the courts in a sealed, non-electronic file, so it shouldn’t be an issue. And she can definitely understand if you’re very protective of your son who was also caught in the Cull.”

Ms. Jacobs smiles and nods fervently. “Of course not. I take the safety of children very seriously whether they’re assigned to me or not. You have nothing to worry about. As far as reports are concerned, Peter’s the only child here.”

Clint hesitates for a moment then waves a hand in vague permission.

She turns back to Cooper. “So, do you live here?”

Cooper is still a little hesitant after the display of aggression from his dad. But after a few minutes of relatively calm silence he answers.

“Not usually, but we’re staying here while my dad looks for my mom and my little brother and sister. We came because they thought they might’ve found my sister but it wasn’t her. But we decided to stay so that if my dad gets a new tip, there are lots of adults he knows and trusts to look after me.”

“That’s very smart of your dad. I’m very sorry your mom and your little sister and brother are missing. I hope you find them soon.”

She asks him a few more questions about the quality of care at the compound that would sound like random questions to a kid but evoke very honest answers. What does he think of Peter’s room? (Peter has his own room on his own floor and he has really cool toys) Is Peter nice? (Yes, he usually lets Cooper decide what they’re going to do that day) Are people nice to Peter? (Yes, everybody seems to like him, but they baby him sometimes.) Is it fun here? (Yep. They even have a whole gym to themselves.) What do you and Peter do when you hang out? (Talk, LEGOs, playing around in the gym)

“Wow, I bet it’s cool living here,” Ms. Jacobs says with genuine enthusiasm before launching back into her stealth questioning.

Is the food really good? (Yes and they can have whatever they want when they want) What was his favorite? (Pizza) What was his least favorite? (Pot pie) Who do you tell when you’re hungry? (Any adult) Is he allowed to eat as much as he wants? (Yes, unless it’s junk food. Then he’s only allowed to have one treat per day) Are there any rules he doesn’t think are fair? (Not really. He’s constantly having to tell people where he is or where he’s going but that’s because the adults are all worried because there are so many people missing right now.)

“It was really nice to meet you,” Ms. Jacobs says in that friendly way childcare workers have.

She looks over Cooper at Clint. “Thank you, sir. That was very helpful. I appreciate you allowing it.”

Finally, she interviews Tony.

Tony has to admit, she’s very good. Her demeanor is very calming and her questions get information without leading. Her scent indicates that she’s an omega. Tony wonders how that works if she decides that children need to be removed from the care from an uncooperative alpha or beta parent. But he knows now is not the time to question her ability to do her job due to her designation.

“Alright, Mr. Stark, just checking in. A few things the judge noted as areas of concern and then just a few questions.”

“Okay.”

“The last time you spoke to the judge, you said Peter wasn’t receiving any educational instruction. Tell me more about that.”

Tony explains that Peter is now comfortable with consistent one-on-one contact, but not quite ready for the crowded classes of his high school so Eshmun has given them the go ahead to bring in a private tutor.

“We’re in the process of vetting background and qualifications. We expect to have someone by month’s end at the very latest.”

She nods and writes something. “You report that Peter recently completely his rut cycle. How was that handled?”

“As we’ve discussed before, he’s too young for ABO services so he has a supply of appropriate aids and a safe, secure den to himself.”

She asks a few more questions about his nutrition, his therapy, scent comforting, his access to spaces outside of his own room, who else in the building he’s allowed contact with. She seems to be verifying answers Peter gave.

“Okay,” she says with a bright smile. “I’ll file my findings with the court, but so far, I’m very pleased with what I see. Peter seems happy and well-cared for. Keep up the good work, Mr. Stark, and I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

He thanks her and escorts her to the elevator where FRIDAY will make sure she proceeds directly to security out processing.

One down. Two to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Clint’s “official” cover story is his characterization from the Matt Faction run of the Hawkeye comic books. As much as I love Hawkeye’s family and farm, I actually prefer deaf, single, caffeine addict Clint who’s extremely charming with dead-eye aim but has the world’s worst luck and an on-again-off-again star-crossed relationship with Black Widow. And Lucky the Pizza Dog is too adorable for words.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late. God of War, one of my favorite games, released their New Game Plus and I was determined to get my very first platinum trophy. Then once I did that, I had to start learning Adobe Creative Suite for work. Learning to manipulate photo images is the stress reliever I didn’t even know I needed. Hopefully this makes up for not posting in almost three (!) weeks.

“I think I miss it,” Peter says out of the blue one day.

They’re hanging out in Tony’s lab. In the last few weeks, Peter’s been aggressively expanding the boundaries of his explorations of the compound. Not that anything has ever truly been off limits, but the first two months, he’d stayed almost exclusively in his rut den slash personal room for safety then, when he felt more comfortable and Eshmun was sure he could handle it, he eventually expanded to areas of food and entertainment such as the food court and the gyms. Tony’s workspace is a relatively new addition to his wanderings, but given how bright the kid is, it’s more surprising that he hadn’t shown up earlier. After getting his first peek behind the curtain nearly a week ago, it’s become part of his daily routine and he usually spends at least an hour watching Tony tinker. Today, he’s sprawled across Tony’s futon using towels and squishy balls to play catch and tug-o-war with Dum-E and Butterfingers who enthusiastically welcome a new playmate.

“Miss what?” Tony asks, looking up from the Nano fiber Kevlar that’s been giving him hell to peer at Peter over his safety goggles.

Peter doesn’t answer immediately, instead watching in mild amusement as Dum-E switches to admirably trying to take his sneakers to the shoe tree where Tony and Bruce store their street shoes while working in their steel-toed lab boots. The dinky robot doesn’t seem to get that he won’t succeed as long as Peter’s feet are firmly planted inside said sneakers. Peter nudges at the bot with the tip of his foot and pushes him backwards, making Dum-E whistle and whirl in alarm, his pincers opening and closing as he backs away and turns a tight circle before returning to try again.

Peter shrugs, a tiny lift and drop of his shoulder. “Climbing walls, web slinging, being the friendly, neighborhood spider-man.”

Tony runs his tongue around this inside of his mouth, giving himself a moment to think before he speaks, not something he does as often as he should. It takes a moment to label that discomfort in his stomach as upset and he can’t tell if he’s more angry or surprised to find it there. Tony prides himself on never getting blindsided and this shouldn’t come as a shock. Peter’s whole life is marked by his absolute refusal to stay down no matter how many times life knocks him to the canvass.

But those were almost all before Tony met him. Before he got emotionally invested in the kid’s safety and well-being.

“The rock wall in the gym suddenly not high enough?” he asks, carefully modulating his scent to neutral.

Another shrug. “It’s not the same.”

“You’ve only been back three months,” Tony points out. “Give yourself time to finish recovering. You’re barely back on your feet.”

That froggy little crumple sets across his mouth and Tony instantly realizes his mistake, mentally chiding himself. Never make an alpha feel weak, _especially_ when they actually are, not even a noobie alpha as easy going as Peter usually is.

“You were barely back from Afghanistan three weeks before Iron Man showed up for the first time. I looked it up,” Peter says, daring Tony to refute the truth.

Tony pulls his goggles off, setting them on his workbench, and flicks Peter an annoyed look. Friggin’ internet. “That’s different.”

“Why? Because you’re rich?”

Tony raises an eyebrow at the surprisingly bratty tone.

“Because I was an _adult_ , no strings attached. That little distinction makes all the difference. If anybody discovers your true identity before you turn eighteen, it’ll be all my lawyers and I can do to keep you in this compound. You’ve seen how they’ve gone after Banner. They’re constantly foaming at the mouth for a slip up to justify dragging Barnes out of here. Hell, they’ve even tried to reclaim Cap as ‘Property of the U.S. Military.’ You think they won’t try to snap you up for your own ‘well-being’?” Tony emphasizes with air quotes. “And once you’re a government ward, there’s General Ross or someone just like him waiting to disappear you from the system and turn you into the next frontier of whatever patriotic bullshit they’re peddling as the next evolution in safety for America whether you like it or not.”

Peter frowns and the belligerent burnt rubber fades away. He slumps back, folding his arms in a pout so dramatic Dum-e pats him sympathetically on the head, making Peter slap his pincers away in irritation.

“I didn’t necessarily mean now. I just… I miss moving, I guess. I felt… I dunno… _free._ You might not’ve noticed but I don’t do a whole hell of a lot around here. Running the track and wall climbing with Cooper is fun, yeah, but I’m used to doing way more. And I miss helping people.”

Ah. So he’s feeling cagey with energy to burn. That makes sense and it’s a simple fix Tony should’ve anticipated.

“Can we at least agree to put off any potential return to superhero-ing until we pass the last court checkup and the ink on the guardianship paper dries?”

“Sure,” Peter mumbles. The tone doesn’t inspire much confidence, particularly for someone whose teenaged self had harbored as wide an anti-authority streak as Tony had. He makes a mental note to tell FRIDAY to alert him if Peter got within ten feet of an exit.

“If you’re feeling antsy and got energy to burn… I think I can help with that.”

He rounds his workbench, nudges Dum-E and Butterfingers out of the way, and toes out of his steel-toed boots. “Let’s head to the gym.”

Peter looks at him, confused. “And do what?”

Tony wedges his feet into his trainers. “We can spar. You and me. Let’s go.”

The confusion shift to incredulity. “You wanna _fight_ me?”

“No. I want to spar with you. Far more controlled. I don’t brawl. I’m a thinker, not a fighter.”

Peter slowly climbs to his feet. “You do know I have super strength, right?”

Tony tilts his head, feigning confusion. “FRIDAY, did we know Peter has super strength?”

“Yes, Boss. It is well documented in our files on Mr. Parker.”

Tony lets out a pointed _hmph._ “Then I must already know about it.”

Peter trails behind, apparently shocked into silence and probably expecting a ten second TKO. Tony almost feels a little bad for misleading him. It’s not widely advertised but Tony has to work out to keep up with his super friends. His suit’s automated but still sometimes gets severely damaged. About five years ago, after an attack by Aldrich Killian masquerading as the Mandarin, Tony had ended up stranded in Bumfuck, Tennessee with both JARVIS and his suit down for the count. He’d been entirely at the mercy of his wits, his will, and his physical ability as Killian’s men pursued him. He realized then and there that he couldn’t just rely on his gadgets or back up. He might actually have to fight his way out of danger. Now, it’s still a hell of a bad day if Tony’s survival depends on his physical fitness and self-defense skills, but he’s spent the last ten years making sure that if it comes down to it, he can do it. It wasn’t an accident that he’d survived the few seconds of hand to hand combat he’d had against Bucky when Zemo triggered his Winter Soldier protocol. The trick has been making sure everybody thinks it was.

Of course, Pepper knows. They sometimes spar. Well, not really spar. Tony wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he accidentally hit her. But they work with the punching mitts. And Natasha knows, initially from her time as his faux assistant, but now as a sparring partner who would be offended if he _didn’t_ try to hit her. But that sneaky spider would probably know even if Fury hadn’t snuck her in undercover.

Once they’ve both changed, they meet up in the ring. Tony puts on his sparring gloves and his head gear and picks up his mouth guard. Peter gives him a curious smirk like he’s still not sure this is really happening.

“Alright, Bitsy. If you can beat me _with my gauntlets on_ , maybe I can get you in next time Cap, Bucky, and Black Widow group spar.”

Peter’s eyes go big and his scent sparks with excitement. Tony idly wonders which of that trio excites the kid more. His hero worship for Cap is blatant, but Tony saw the occasional awkward glances he snuck when he thought Natasha wasn’t paying attention and from what he’s heard, the kid’s just as fascinated as he is with the mechanics of Bucky’s ar.

“No repulsors?” Peter clarifies.

Tony shakes his head and deploys his nano training gauntlets, softer than the real thing, somewhere between the firmness of his real repulsors and the padded texture of boxing gloves.

“Repulsors are for real enemies in real fights.”

Peter grins and flexes his hands. “Okay. Let’s go.”

* * *

“Boss, you have a call from Lillian Sharpe of the Indiana CASA GAL.”

Tony pauses for a moment, his brain scanning for the funky acronym before he remembers where he’s heard it before. CASA. Court Appointed Special Advocate Guardian Ad Litem. Peter’s lawyer in their guardianship case was his CASA GAL. But definitely not from Indiana.

“Patch her through,” Tony says.

“Yes, Boss. Transferring her now.”

Tony tinkers with a prototype foam that would be added to the gloves of Peter’s suit. Not that Peter really needs any help. He won two out of their three matches after Tony helped him get over his initial hesitance by hitting the kid a few times and reminding him that if he lost, it would be to an omega three times his age. That had definitely gotten the competitive juices flowing and Tony’s still moving a little gingerly. Peter’s technique, or lack thereof, had given him an idea for an upgrade and even with their enhanced healing powers, all of his punchy kicky friends could probably use a little protection for their fingers and toes. The struggle was creating a foam that would cushion but not inhibit their dexterity. Not a single one of them would wear the damned things if it cost them even a second of reaction time or a single degree of flexibility.

“Hello?” a young, maybe mid-20s, female voice asks hesitantly, jolting Tony out of his thoughts.

“Good morning,” Tony answers cheerfully as he fits the foam around the robot arm he designed to simulate Cap’s hand size and strength.

“Who is this?” the voice asks, suddenly suspicious.

“I am Oz, the great and powerful. Who are you?” Tony quips and lines the arm up directly in front of a block with the density of a brick wall. He needs to get impact readings to make sure the foam actually works, but he can’t just ask one of the team to punch something that might break a knuckle.

It takes him a second to realize the line has gone silent.

Realizing he’s probably confused the poor woman, Tony chuckles and softly rolls his eyes. “This is Tony Stark speaking, Ms. Sharpe. I heard you wanted to talk to me.”

“Holy shit,” Ms. Sharpe whispers, low and clearly awestruck. “I mean… I’m sorry. That was so unprofessional. I apologize. I just… I have a kid here who keeps insisting her daddy knows Tony Stark.”

Tony’s ears perk and he puts down the StarkPad that had been feeding him data to give her his full attention. “Would this kid happen to be a seven-year-old girl with a woodchuck grin and a scar on her chin?”

“Yes!” the voice chirps, pleased and surprised. “Would you happen to know her father’s name?”

“Hold one moment, Ms. Sharpe,” Tony says and pauses the call.

“FRIDAY, run a quick search on Ms. Sharpe make sure her background and credentials checks out. No nasty surprises.”

“Right away, Boss.”

It only takes about thirty seconds to dig up Ms. Sharpe’s very above-board background and vet her for potentially nefarious connections to anybody who’d love to know about minor children connected to an Avenger.

“I’m back, Ms. Sharpe,” Tony says. “Your kiddo should be named Lila Grace Barton. Her father is Clinton Francis Barton.”

“Oh, this is fantastic! I’m sorry it took so long to make contact, but when I googled that full name, the only one I could find was Hawkeye and the internet says he doesn’t have any kids so I thought she was making up stories about her daddy being a superhero to make herself feel better.”

Tony nods even though she can’t see him. “If you know Clint is Hawkeye, you can probably guess why his kids aren’t publicly connected to him.”

“Oh, of course. I’m just so excited to have found somebody for her. I have so many kids looking for their parents. Getting one more home is the best news I’ve had all day. No, make that all week!”

“Well, you’re doing God’s work. Mr. Barton and I are on our way,” Tony assures her, barely remembering to disconnect the call in his excitement to go tell Clint the good news.

* * *

Collecting Lila and bringing her back to the compound does wonders for Clint’s mood. He’s frantically relieved and happy to the point of it being a little overwhelming, his scent emanating so powerfully that standing within a five-foot-radius smelled like being forcefully smothered with a spring time fresh blanket straight out of the dryer. He’s constantly checking in with Lila, randomly hugging her and pulling her in to scent. It reminds Tony of those videos where the dogs flip out when their owners come back from deployment overseas. But Lila seems content with the attention, maybe even seeking it. At seven, the simple act of being separated from her parents without warning and seemingly without end would be traumatic even if the Cull wasn’t factored in. Dr. Eshmun’s already working with both Peter and Cooper. With Clint’s blessing and Eshmun’s permission, Tony added Lila to her rapidly expanding client list.

Even with two of the kiddos safe, it’s not difficult to tell that Clint’s still worried. Each of the kids returning in wildly different locations despite the whole family being together when they disappeared doesn’t bode well for Nathaniel and Laura being together. It makes Tony all the more determined to find the final two pieces to Barton’s Happy Family.

That’s why he’s up at two o’clock in the morning working on an algorithm when the videos land in his inbox. He immediately switches tracks, opening the files, watching them twice then pouring over them frame by frame. They’d never gotten more than a blur from an overly excited civilian before making it impossible to tell who the PFE might be. But these clips from body cams of steadier under pressure first responders are just what Tony needs, still blurry but with longest patches of salvageable surveillance. Tony recognized that power and if ferality has truly hit, they’re in deeper trouble than he’d imagined. He digitally extracts a few still frames, embeds them in emails, and sends them out to the Avenger group email.

He’s not sure why so many of his teammates are awake at this hour, but the responses ping in within seconds as they come to the exact same conclusion about the Potentially Feral Enhanced.

_That’s Wanda._


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohmagerd! This chapter fought me so hard, but I have emerged victorious! Sorry for the wait, but hopefully it's well worth it!

Bright and early, Tony calls an Avengers Assemble. That means anybody willing and able is gathered around the conference table, picking over fresh donuts and coffee, chatting while they wait to hear what they need to do to save the day this time. A little less than a year ago, the galactic threat was big enough that meant over two dozen people. Today, the ranks are considerably thinner, with some sidelined by recovery, others still missing, and a few simply having understandably reached their superheroing limit.

Still, the ever-faithful show up. Steve, Bucky, Sam, Clint, Natasha, Tony, and to Tony’s displeasure, Peter. Tony gives a peevish click of his tongue. He and FRIDAY are going to have a long talk about minimum age requirements for Avenger communiques. But the smart alecky AI would probably point out that she had no reason to exclude Peter based on age due to his previous inclusion. Plus, with Cap, Bucky, and Thor on the roster, there’s no way for her algorithm to create age parameters in either direction. Tony sighs and chides himself for thinking a few rounds in the ring would be enough to suppress the kid’s innate need to be active and useful. He tries to catch Peter’s eye, but the kid is smartly and intentionally avoiding eye contact.

As perturbed as Tony is to see Peter sitting at the table, the unease is doubled by the number of empty chairs. A lifelong soldier, Rhodey wanted to be here, but he aggravated his spinal cord in the Battle of Wakanda. The doctors warned the paralysis might spread upwards, maybe steal control of his lungs if he doesn’t give his body sufficient time to recuperate and rehabilitate after the beating he took in spite of the exoskeleton Tony created for him. There are rumors Wakanda has the technology to reverse spinal paralysis, but with all they’ve asked of T’Challa’s tiny nation in the last year, all Shuri is still doing for them, it doesn’t seem like the time to ask. Maybe when T’Challa is back on his feet.

Bruce is also noticeably absent. The Hulk has remained stubbornly and voluntarily repressed no matter how angry Bruce gets, something Bruce has desperately wanted for years. But it’s turned out to have been a monkey’s paw of a wish. He no longer has to deal with Mean Green, but it’s left him feeling lonely and vulnerable, off-balance and somewhat depressed. The Hulk may have been ruining Bruce’s personal life, but he was an overall force for good and a reliable protector, a big gun in any seemingly unwinnable fight. And now he’s unreachable.

Likewise, Thor, their other battle tide turner, continues to remain incommunicado, wandering the universe doing whatever compels him as he mourns his brother and his people. Tony never liked Loki, for a multitude of reasons, but he understands the pain of unexpectedly losing a family member while still locked in the throes of a lifelong love-hate relationship. The lack of closure following Howard’s untimely demise drove Tony to some extremes he’s deeply ashamed of in hindsight. To hear Thor tell it, he and Loki had over a millennium of familial tension. At this point, Tony’s not even sure Thor’s still on Midgard, as he prefers to call Earth. With the ability to travel the universe at will, he very well might be squirrelled away in one of the eight other realms. But they could probably use a demi-god for this type of fight. Thor has at least a passing knowledge of magic even if he strongly prefers brute force.

“Alright, lady and gents,” Tony calls with a rap of his knuckles against the conference room table to get everyone’s attention. “Operation Wayward Witch is officially convened. I trust by now, you’ve all studied the video I sent you and the consensus was that the PFE is Wanda.”

There’s a smattering of agreements.

“Well, I’m going to go ahead and point out the obvious,” Tony says. “Last time we went up against Scarlet Witch 1.0, she basically had her wicked way with us. Mistakes were made, people, places, and things got broken, and the fall out was enormous and regrettable. So, we’ve got a few things to consider: who can wrangle her, how can we protect them while they do so, and who’s out because of the risk if they get hoo-doo’ed.”

Cap is the first to speak. “Nat and I were okay. I mean, beyond some nightmare hallucinations, we were still in fighting shape.”

Natasha nods in silent agreement, not giving so much as a twitch even though Tony knows personally that ‘nightmare’ is a steep understatement for the mental hellscape Wanda can invoke.

“I bet Dr. Strange could handle her,” Peter says off-handedly.

“Who’s that?” Steve asked, reminding Tony that in the slapdash of unexpected galactic battle not all the defenders had even had the chance to meet.

“Badass Wizard that fought Thanos with me, Peter, and a bunch of space weirdos,” Tony answered. “He got caught up in the Cull, though. And according to Wong, his right-hand man, he’s not back yet.”

“That’s very bad news, isn’t?” Bucky said, smartly picking up on the foreboding undertones.

“The worst, Frosty. Strange is an alpha and he makes Wanda’s magic look like child’s play. If he’s wandering around, goes feral and starts using his magic in that state, we’ll know it.”

The group is silent, disquieted and dreading a potential future fight against anybody who could dwarf Wanda’s powers.

“Well, we were on the same side in Germany so I’ve never fought against her,” Sam points out, “but I can provide air support and I’m not physical capable of doing anything anywhere near what the Big Guy can if I get whammied.”

“I am,” Bucky says flatly. He sits back, slumping in his chair. “I’m usually all in to help, but I can’t risk anybody reactivating the Winter Soldier protocols. If she can really get into your head, mess with your memories, then I should probably stay far away.”

Steve murmurs, both in agreement and reassurance.

Tony nods in acknowledgement.

“Definitely don’t want Old Man Winter on the board. An extremely aggressive omega might rile her. She’s an alpha, right?” he asks, checking with Natasha who is most likely to know information the guys may have missed while politely refraining from appearing to scent the younger woman.

Natasha nods. “She is. A feral alpha with crazy powers who might not remember that we’re all friends now.”

Tony hums in thought and turns to Clint. “Bird boy, you didn’t do so hot with mind control. You sitting this one out?”

Clint heaves a sigh, his mouth pinching as he considers. After a heartbeat or two, he answers. “I was able to avoid her whammy last time and I actually managed to stun her and get the twins to retreat. Plus, I think behind Vision, I’m the one she likes most. I might be able to get through to her.”

“Good thinking,” Tony says. “Okay, next—”

“I can help,” Peter interjects.

Tony stops and looks at Peter, pressing his lips together, a physical reminder to himself not to start an argument here. “We’ll talk about that later.”

“Okay,” Peter says in a voice that suspiciously sounds more like malicious compliance than any type of actual capitulation.

“As I was saying, the next—”

“Tony,” Steve interrupted. “I… I’m hesitant to bring this up because I’m me, you’re you, and we’re us, but...”

“Very poetic so far, Cap,” Tony prods when Steve trails off.

Cap sighs and his scent dips to toasted bread. “I’m only bringing this up now because we need to discuss an alternative plan of action as a group.”

“Well, you have to spit it out before we can alternate,” Tony points out.

Steve still hesitates and Tony can see him literally bite his tongue before he sighs. “You can’t go on this mission.”

The whole room collectively sucks in a breath and Tony can see individual members steeling themselves for a blowout between their two leaders.

Refusing to be baited so easily, Tony forces himself to stay calm, his scent a steadfast blend of calm cherry tart and slightly agitated wine. “You wanna share with the class how you came to this conclusion?”

“I don’t think you want me to. We can talk about the exact why later. Just trust me?”

“No,” Tony insists, losing his careful grip on his temper. “Secrets don’t make friends, Stevie.”

Steve glares at Tony’s glib use of the pet name used solely by his mate. “Are you really gonna make me say it?”

“I am.”

“Fine,” Steve huffs. He takes a moment as though still trying to find a tactful way to voice his objection. “Tony, of she’s a feral alpha who might be going into rut…”

Tony scoffs in disbelief. Is he serious?

“Oh my god, Rogers. Don’t give me the ‘for your own good, alpha knows best’ bullshit.”

“It’s not safe for you to go,” Steve insists, undeterred by Tony’s scent souring to a bitter vinaigrette. “You said it yourself. ‘An extremely aggressive omega might rile her.’ If she’s not in her right mind… She _hated_ you, swore to make you suffer. If she has rut brain, _you_ are an omega. We know she has the power to make people do things they otherwise wouldn’t and if she decides to… do something… we might not be able to stop her.”

Tony looks around at the others in stunned disbelief, trying to gauge if this was just Steve’s opinion or if they all felt this way. But reading this group is impossible. Steve is the very picture of ‘Because Captain America says so.’ Bucky’s face is carefully blank, decidedly uninterested in getting caught in an argument between Steve and Tony. Sam has his professional ‘I’m here for you’ face on. Clint and Natasha, both seasoned spies, are completely inscrutable. The only person whose opinion Tony can clearly mark is Peter who’s too new to have developed any kind of poker face and clearly broadcasting his discomfort watching his childhood heroes argue, particularly over such a sensitive topic.

“I don’t sit out just because the target is an alpha. Most of the baddies we fight are alphas. You guys are shit at respecting other people’s boundaries,” Tony points out snidely.

“I know this is a sore point for you,” Natasha interjects, trying to cut the burgeoning argument off at the knees, “but you can’t let it devolve into a you versus Steve thing again. Bucky’s an omega and he’s not going. None of us think any less of him for acting in his own best interest.”

“Plus, you’ll still be involved,” Clint adds. “We’re going to need some kind of anti-magic tech and somebody coordinating when we’re on the ground.”

Tony is silent for long, terse moment. Being told what he can or can’t as an omega has been, is, and always will be the bane of his existence. He’s spent his life proving that not only can he do anything an alpha can do, he can also do it better, backwards, and blindfolded. But he’s seen what Wanda can do. In Germany, she literally launched the contents of a parking garage at him. Tony won’t prove anything by insisting on going, splitting the team’s attention as they try to simultaneously fight and make sure he’s safe.

He lets out a disgruntled huff.

“Fine. I won’t go. Now, if we’re done setting omega rights back fifty years, I’ve been looking at the schematics of the power dampening cuffs Ross and the U.N. used on Wanda. I’m pretty sure I can recreate them and even reverse engineer them to create some type of protection for the wearer.”

He pops up the schematics on the holo display and pretends not to hear the collective sighs of relief.

* * *

Peter wants to go.

He comes down to Tony’s lab and watches in silence as Tony works out how to fashion what turned out to be SHIELD power dampening cuffs into anti-whammy bracelets, one for each wrist and both ankles just to be sure.

It’s by no means surprising when Peter finally speaks up.

“Is now late enough to qualify as ‘later’? he asks casually.

Tony straps one of the bracelets around Dumm-E and zaps him with the tesseract simulator he built. He’s pleased when the thing doesn’t turn into a murder bot but instead tries to extinguish the simulator with his usual level of eager ineffectiveness.

“We’ve already talked about this,” Tony says as he moves the bracelet prototype back to his work station.

“No. You asked me to wait and then bribed me with boxing lessons from Captain America.”

“Which you readily accepted.”

Peter doesn’t answer, but he can almost hear the boy roll his eyes. Tony keeps working, trying to decide if the bracelets and anklets should be one size fits all or fitted for the person to ensure that they don’t accidentally fly off in some un-anticipatable rough and tumble scenario.

“This is an emergency,” Peter says emphatically.

“It always is when we’re called in. Doesn’t change what we talked about. If something happens to you, we can kiss my guardianship goodbye.”

“You’re being a hypocrite,” Peter says abruptly.

Tony frowns, puts the prototype down, and turns to face Peter who’d been standing at his back. Peter takes two quick steps back and swallows hard, but he balls his fist, visibly determined to stand his ground.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, incredulous. “A hypocrite. Is that what you think?”

Peter’s mouth flexes like he’s biting the inside of his lips.

“You are,” he insists, his words underscored by bitter rubber. “You get all pissed off any time you think people are treating you different because you’re an omega, but the entire time you’ve known me, you’re constantly babying me, telling me I’m too young. I wasn’t too young in Germany!”

“That’s different” Tony barks.

“How?! How’s it different?” Peter demands, the rubber turning to acrid tar. “You’re benching me for something I can’t help!”

“The difference is I’m almost fifty years old,” Tony snaps. “I’m an omega, but I’ve lived a full life. I graduated high school, went to college, partied, traveled, met girls, met guys, fell in love, had my heart broken, got over it. I’ve done everything thing I’ve ever wanted to do. And on Titan, when the _ashes_ of your _disintegrated_ body were sliding through my goddamn _fingers_ , I realized you hadn’t gotten to do _any_ of those things. Christ, you hadn’t even _presented!_ I’m just trying to keep you alive long enough to actually do some living and I’m sorry if that conflicts with your all-consuming desire to die young in a blaze of glory!”

When Tony stops yelling, the silence is deafening. They’re both breathing hard, choking on vinegar tar fumes. Dum-E and U are huddled in a corner, whirring and whistling uncertainly.

Tony wipes a hand over his face. “Peter, you’re young and that makes it hard for you to see where I’m coming from. One day, you’re going to be a big hero. People… people are going to talk about ‘The Amazing Spider-man’ with the same awe they talk about me and Cap now. But imagine how different the world would be if we died when we were fifteen.”

Peter blinks, silent for a moment. “With all due respect, we studied Cap in school. Before the serum, doctors his whole life told him he wouldn’t live to see twenty-five. The army told him dozens of times he was too scrawny to be a soldier. What if he’d listened to them and decided at fifteen that there were better ways to spend the few years he had left than fighting bullies?”

Tony lets out a defeated breath, presses his lips together, and picks the prototype back up.

“At the end of the day, Bitsy, we both know I can’t stop you. I’ve tried. Twice.”

“And it means the world to me that you care enough to try,” Peter admits, warm leather underscoring the sincerity of his words. “But like I said before, when you can do the things I can and you don’t…”

“Then the bad things happen,” Tony finishes for him.

Unfortunately, in Tony’s experience they also happen in spite of and to you.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter! This was tough but extremely satisfying to write. It's hard to leave this 'verse but I feel like this story is done. At least until Captain Marvel and A4 come out (are y'all also freaked out by Chris Evans' tweet saying he'd wrapped on A4 and thanking everyone for supporting him through his eight year run with Marvel?!). 
> 
> I'd like to thank everyone who took the time to drop a kudos or a comment. The comments, particularly the lengthy ones about what you liked best and angsting over what would happen next, gave me life and ideas and encouraged me to keep going. Thanks for being patient when I went from posting every day for the first three quarters of the story to once a week to every other week in the final stretch.

The hardest part of dealing with Peter is respecting the fact that despite his relative youth in comparison to the rest of the team, he’s still nearly an adult and pushing for autonomy is a feature not a bug. Tony spends the next day and a half wanting to put his foot down and forbid Peter from leaving the compound, but he’s not an idiot. That wouldn’t have worked on his rebellious teenaged self and it would likely be even less successful against a young alpha who deeply believes he’s doing the right thing for the good of the world.

Tony also considers going to Steve, asking him to convince Peter to sit this one out. But after the last massive disagreement, Tony made Peter promise not to drag Cap and Bucky into their personal disputes. It’s only fair that the rule applies to Tony as well.

Still, Tony is conflicted. Avenging is dangerous and he’s now directly and personally responsible for Peter’s safety. In the past, he’s tried to rein the kid in, encouraging him to be the local, friendly, neighborhood Spider-man. But much like in Queens, D.C. has bigger threats than cats up trees. Tony’s already learned the hard way that forcing Peter to sneak around just leads to bigger trouble that could have been avoided with better communication. And it’s not like Tony’s feelings on the matter will magically change the day Peter turns eighteen. At least this way, they can all keep an eye on him. Ned was probably good tech support, but Hawkeye, Widow, and Cap have the muscle and experience to make sure nothing bad happens to the kid. They'll just have to trust the team.

If he quadruple checks to make sure the anti-magic bracelets work, that’s no one’s business but his.

Thirty-six hours after Tony first called the Assemble, they’re all in the ready room. Everyone who’s going is suited up, including Peter who’s wearing the red and blue suit Tony gave him in Germany since the Iron Spider suit still needs to be repaired. This one at least has the baseline specs that will allow both Tony and Peter as well as FRIDAY and Karen to communicate, the best Tony can do on short notice.

“Alright. Everybody remember the plan?” Cap asks as he straps his Wakandan wrist shields on. It still jars Tony to see them. He’s the one who told Steve he didn’t deserve to carry the shield Howard had designed, but now that they’re back on speaking terms, the solid black armaments are a bleak reminder that blind anger and a refusal to compromise had left the world vulnerable, its defenders scrambling to get who, what, and where they needed instead of being a prepared, united front.

The group, better focused than Tony, nods in response.

“Good. Let’s go.”

They’re going in as friendlies unless forced to escalate. Tony has managed to triangulate Wanda’s location to a former Stark Industries warehouse, now abandoned, on the outskirts of New Jersey. That she sought out some semblance of Tony is foreboding, but there don’t seem to be any signs of hostility outside of what she’s done to meet survival needs like food, water, and shelter. The area is isolated, a clearing surrounded by woods, giving the weapons manufacturing plant the space and privacy it needed. Now, it gives them the best chance for minimal chances for casualties or collateral damage. Hopefully, they’ll be able to bring Wanda in with minimal fuss and get her any help she may need.

The plan is for Cint to take the lead with Cap, for whom Wanda had fought half the Avengers, at his side. Natasha will be visible but sticking to the perimeter. Sam and his mechanical falcon, Red Wing, will be up top providing surveillance. Peter is monitoring the perimeter with Natasha but from the high ground in the trees, ready to web anyone who might intentionally or accidentally interfere. With Wanda’s mind control abilities, unexpected players aren’t out of the question.

Tony’s stationed about a mile out in an ancillary building on the property, listening to everything through the comms system, wearing his gauntlets, ready to deploy at a moment’s notice.

But so far Barton’s doing fine.

“Wanda, do you remember me?” he asks.

“You are the Hawk. And he is the Captain. The woman is the Widow,” she responds, her accent thicker than it’s been in years.

“That’s right. And we’re here to help.”

She audibly sneers. “I do not need your help. My people and my country have wilted and died under the strain of your ‘help.’”

“Fair enough,” Clint says carefully, neither agreeing with or refuting the statement. “We just thought you might be a little lost. Not a lot of people living in this warehouse these days.”

There’s a quiet hesitation.

“I am not lost, but… my brother. I cannot find him. I have looked everywhere.”

_Oh shit._

Tony holds his breath waiting to hear Clint’s reply, knowing how tremulous this moment is, that there’s no way to give her what she so clearly wants.

“Pietro,” Clint says softly, reverently.

“You know of him?” Wanda asks, voice full of surprise and hope.

“I do. Good kid. _Great kid,_ ” Clint answers, truthfully but careful to remain in the present tense, all the while, his voice heavy with hidden truth.

“Have you seen him? Where is he?” Wanda demands and Tony can practically smell the sharp, metallic gun powder scent of her anxious fear.

Before Clint can reply, Sam interrupts.

“Heads up, guys. You got an unknown operator headed towards your eight o’clock and he’s moving fast.”

Tony tabs through Red Wings surveillance, zooming in to study the portly guy chugging like a freight through the trees. “Looks like a local. Too clumsy to be an operative… but he might not be moving under his steam. Probably no coincidence that Red Riding Hood gets worked up and he comes running.”

“Agreed,” Natasha says. “I’ll go check it out, slow him down.”

“Ok. Peter, you back her up,” Clint murmurs.

But not quietly enough apparently.

“Peter?” Wanda asks. “Pietro?”

“What? No!” Clint barks.

A scuffle, a yelp, and several people swearing are the last things Tony hears before the comms crackle and die.

By the time Tony makes it to the clearing three minutes later, it looks like a small war zone. The trees in the area have been uprooted and tossed like matchsticks. All the glass in the front-facing windows of the warehouse have been blown out. Natasha and Clint are both on the ground, looking slightly dazed. Cap’s slightly better, only down on one knee, splinters of a tree coating his shields and his thighs, suggesting more than one tree had careened his way. Sam’s standing, but the massive warping of his wings hint he had a hard landing.

Peter and Wanda are nowhere to be found, tar and gun powder hanging in the air ominously.

Tony pops open his faceplate.

“Where is he?” he demands.

“She took him,” Natasha says with a groan as she pushes to her feet, her weight gingerly held off her left ankle.

“I’m sorry, Tony,” Clint says pulling himself into a sitting position. “I should have used his code name. Or let you call the play. I’m just so used to seeing him as Cooper’s friend, I didn’t think. This is my fault.”

“No, it’s not,” Cap says as he gets back up and dusts himself off. “Everybody did exactly what they were supposed to do, everything worked as expected. We just didn’t think to factor in that even if she couldn’t control us, she could manipulate everything _around_ us.”

He turns to Tony. “I’m sorry. I tried to stop her, but it was like standing in the center of a tornado. By the time everything settled, they’d vanished somehow. Do you have a tracker in his suit?”

“I did, but he figured out how to disable it last time he wanted to hero without permission,” Tony says with a sigh. “The next time I let him suit up, I gave him a new one, so I didn’t think to reactivate the beacon. FRIDAY, can you reach Karen?”

There’s a moment of silence before FRIDAY replies. “No, boss. Something is disrupting our communications, but I will keep trying.”

“We’ll get him back. We’ll get them both back,” Clint says. “On the upside, if she thinks he’s Pietro, he’s not in any danger even once the mask comes off. She would never hurt her brother.”

“How long can that last?” Cap asks. “Pietro was a blond. Peter’s a brunet, smaller, and younger.”

“Pietro’s blond hair was about as natural as mine is. His roots were dark as dirt,” Natasha says. “Given the regression of her accent, she might think we’re years in the past and Peter might actually look like Pietro at that age.”

“That won’t help if she suddenly realizes he’s not Pietro, like when he can’t speak freakin’ Sokovian. What if she thinks we intentionally tried to fool her?” Tony asks.

No one answers, knowing that family is a powerful motivator.

* * *

“It was a portal! She used a _portal_ ,” Tony says triumphantly, looking up from a dozen halo-screens of readings and fluctuations of the area during the time of the confrontation. He’s been combing over everything from that day. The footage from the still functioning warehouse cameras, feedback from Peter’s suit up to the point that it lost contact with the system, every satellite and radio tower within a hundred-mile radius. And for days nothing until now. Tony scrubs at his bleary eyes and looks around, anxious to crow about his achievement to whichever Avenger was in the room. They’d been keeping an informal, unspoken vigil with him as he worked, someone always sitting on the futon whenever he looked up. But right now, he’s uncharacteristically alone. No matter. He’s never _really_ alone.

“FRIDAY, did we know she could do that?” He asks.

“No, Boss,” FRIDAY confirms. “But given her young age, the unnatural origins of her abilities, and the Cull’s ability to trigger unexpected biological reactions, it is reasonable that she might have developed additional powers.”

“So she’s even _more_ powerful. Great,” Tony says deadpan. “Call Wong at the New York Sanctum.”

“Calling now.”

“Wait. What time…” Tony glances around until his eyes land on a digital clock. Half an hour ‘til midnight. He cocks his head to the side mentally weighing.

“Is eleven too late for normal people?” he asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer. “It’s probably late for monks. But he’s a magic monk. He probably has to keep weird hours. And this is important. Yeah. Call him.”

“Calling now,” FRIDAY says, very professionally ignoring his roundabout rambling.

It takes a while. Being a non-believer in technology or earthly possessions, Wong doesn’t own any digital devices. It takes a few extra minutes for FRIDAY to tap into landlines and place a traditional long-distance call to the ancient hardwire phone that came with the building that houses the sanctum that don’t naturally lend themselves to AI-caressing.

“Hello?” Wong answers, clearly confused to be receiving a call, his voice crackling across the telephone line.

“Wong, this is Tony. Stark. From the Avengers,” Tony clarified. When you’re as purposefully isolated Mystic Arts Sorcerers, Tony’s fame doesn’t mean immediate recognition.

“Oh! Is this about the Sorcerer Supreme? Have you found him?” Wong asks hopefully.

“Sorry, buddy. No news on that front, but I promise I’m still looking,” Tony answers gently. “I’m looking for a couple of junior Avengers and I hit a roadblock trying to learn more about portals. I’ve seen you guys do the orange sparky magic hoops, so I figured you’d be my best shot at figuring it out. Strange seemed to imply you were right behind him in knowing about that kind of magic.”

Wong chuckles. “Stephen likes to think _everyone_ is a step or two behind him. Unfortunately for his ego, he’s usually right. How might I be of service?”

Tony explains the issue with Wanda and why they needed to be able to track her portal. “Would it be possible to, like, open a portal to wherever she went?”

Wong makes a negative noise. “Portals are unique to the caster. You can’t follow the exact same trail unless you go through with them at the same time. It is similar to the limitations of space. Two people can be in close proximity to one another, but they can never be in the exact same space at the same time.”

Tony clicks his tongue. That’s one plan out of the water. “You have any way of telling where she went? I need to know whether I’m at least looking in the right hemisphere.”

“I can look into it, try to see where portal residue has occurred, but there are more magic wielders than you realize and without having met her, it’s difficult for me to recognize her specific magic. And even if I can, if she’s routinely traveling via portal, it won’t help much. Because of the nature of time passage in portals, at most I’d be able to tell you _where_ she’s been but not _when_.”

“I’ll take anything you can get me,” Tony says gratefully.

Once he’s off the phone with Wong, Tony studies everything he can get his hands on until Pepper comes down a little after three in the morning to convince him to go to bed.

“I’m fine,” he insists, blinking hard to clear his eyes. “I just need to finish this one—"

“Fresh eyes will make this so much easier in the morning,” she reassures him as she sways him with the scent of gingerbread.

Tony closes the holo screen with a tired swish of his hand. He’s loath to walk away from an unsolved puzzle, but if there’s anything he likes better than seemingly unsolvable puzzles, it’s Pepper, so he gives in and follows her to bed.

* * *

“Boss?”

Tony hums grumpily at the unexpected interruption to his sleep.

“Boss?” Friday repeats.

Tony’s frown deepens, eyes still closed. A chronic insomniac, the little sleep he gets is sacrosanct, disturbed upon pain of death or a vindictive alarm clock virus in every digital device owned by the offender, designed to sound at random and inconvenient times so they too can share in the joys of sleep deprivation. Though she technically can’t be punished in such a way, Friday knows to safeguard his slumber.

Unless a more important parameter usurps priority.

Tony sighs and pulls himself awake. It’s not like he was sleeping peacefully any way. His rest had been plagued by twisting, winding nightmares about having to explain to Peter’s court advocate why he has no idea where Peter is or explain to the judge how the child temporarily assigned to his care somehow ended up dead hundreds, maybe thousands of miles away from where he’s supposed to have been, or having to complete the Parker family burial plot with its fifth and final marker.

“Boss?” FRIDAY asks again.

Tony rolls over, wipes a hand across his face, grimacing at the clammy, sweaty feel of his skin. He glances over at Pepper who’s appears to be sleeping fine. Thankfully, his nightmares and agitated scent hadn’t swelled enough to affect her. He eases out of bed and pads barefooted into the living room.

“Alright. I’m up. What is it?” Tony asks, bleary eyes already zoning in on the coffee maker that he can just barely make out on top of the breakfast bar, wondering if he should go ahead and brew a pot or if this can be handled before the muzziness of sleep leaves him.

“I was able to make contact with Karen.”

And just like that, coffee’s not even necessary.

“What have I told you about burying the lede?” Tony says as he u-turns back into the bedroom for clothes and his glasses.

“Get to the good stuff as quick and flashy as possible. But out of deference to Miss Pott’s rest, I blocked the town crier protocol.”

Tony pauses in the middle of pulling a t-shirt over his head, trying to remember when he created such a protocol. It sounds like something that would’ve been hilarious while in the midst of a multi-day up-all-night haze.

“Good call,” Tony acknowledges, shoving his arms through the appropriate holes. “What did Karen say? Where’s the kid?”

“Peter says they are okay and they can be here as soon as you give the word.”

Tony does a double take then remembers about the portal jumping.

“The… What? Fine. I’m giving the word. Tell ‘em to get here now or their both grounded. Or worse, expelled,” Tony says sharply as he steps into a pair of chino pants. He slides his feet into a pair of slip-ons and picks up the bracelets for his gauntlets. “And make sure Cap and Widow are on standby.”

“Peter recommends making sure Mr. Barton is here and he asks that you not notify the other Avengers.”

Tony hesitates. He definitely shouldn’t meet Wanda alone, but the last time he’d gone with the flow against his own judgment, Peter had been spider-napped.

Still, the fact that they’re on their way back and Peter’s not sounding all the alarms to signal imminent incoming danger suggests he’s figured out some way to keep Wanda calm and the last thing Tony wants is to break that fragile peace.

He huffs a gust of air and runs his tongue around the inside of his mouth as he thinks.

Twenty years younger than the next oldest member of the original Avengers team, Peter’s going to eventually be either a solo hero or a team leader. He needs to be able to be confident in his decision-making process and that starts with Tony and the others trusting his decision-making. And if anything goes too off the rails, it’s not like most of the team available team isn’t already somewhere in the compound.

“Alright. Get Barton up here.”

Half an hour later, with Lila and Cooper outfitted in anti-magic bracelets and secured in Peter’s safe den, Clint is by his side when Tony gives FRIDAY the go ahead and uses her to tell Peter and Wanda to portal onto the helipad atop the compound. They don’t have to wait more than a few seconds before a neon pink swirl flares in a small ball before pushing wide to open and let Peter and Wanda pass through.

Tony’s eyes scan over Peter, but the kid looks non-worse for wear. When he glances towards Wanda, they make unexpected eye contact. Her eyes widen a little at the sight of him, but she doesn’t attack which is a small mercy and a huge relief.

Tony is the one who finally breaks the awkward tension.

“Welcome and welcome back.”

* * *

Clint and Peter take lead in getting Wanda settled. She’s not feral, but extremely disoriented to time and place. After a quick once over to make sure there are no obvious reminders of Vision, they set her up in her old room, hoping the familiarity will bolster her recovery. Tony waffles about whether or not to add Wanda to Eshmun’s caseload. Peter and Cooper’s connection to the Avengers may be relatively unknown to the general public, but there’s not a person in the world who doesn’t know Scarlet Witch, her role in prompting the Sokovia Accords, her stint as a rogue Avenger both pre- and post-prison breakout. 

Eventually, Tony decides mental health takes priority. If Wanda really doesn’t remember Pietro and Vision’s deaths, she’s going to need all the support she can get as she regains her memories. But when he presents Eshmun with her own pair of anti-magic bracelets and a semi-plausible lie about why they’re needed, Eshmun just laughs softly.

“Tony, I put the puzzle together a long time ago and I haven’t said a word to anyone. Even heroes need help sometimes. You and your team see the worst humanity and several other species have to offer. If you, your friends or your family need someone to talk to, I’m here and my lips are forever sealed.”

Tony chuckles ruefully. She’s always been sharper than he gives her credit for. That’s why he hired her.

“Thanks, Doc. Discretion is a painfully rare commodity for us.”

After a long day of canceling alerts, changing algorithm parameters to account for the recovered team members, and making sure everybody has what they need, Tony ends up in Peter’s room on their recliner.

Peter sits on the arm of the chair and leans in to scent.

“You know, I really don’t need this. I’m fine,” he says even as snuggles his forehead against the scent glands in Tony’s throat.

Tony lets a soft laugh rumble in his chest. “It’s cute you think this is for you.”

Peter tilts his head back to look at Tony but doesn’t say anything.

“So where were you guys,” Tony asks after they’ve had few minutes to settle.

“I’m not sure. I don’t think we were in the US. It was really cold and I heard animal noises I couldn’t identify. We were in a windowless room the whole time so I never got to look around.”

Tony considers that. They couldn’t have gone back to Sokovia. That place is nothing more than a gigantic crater in the dirt. Maybe one of the neighboring countries?

“How did you convince her to bring you back?”

“Talking. A _lot_ of talking.”

“Yeah? About what?”

“When she still thought I was Pietro, which is super sad by the way,” Peter adds softly. “But she talked about her parents, how much she misses them, and how scared she was when she couldn’t find me. I mean, him.”

Hearing it, even when he already knew it, makes Tony feel worse than he already did for Wanda. He knew from when they first met, that in the aftermath of their parents’ deaths, they’d only had each other for years before being experimented on by HYDRA and manipulated by Ultron. And just as they realized the Avengers could be their new family, Pietro was killed in the Battle of Sokovia, leaving Wanda completely orphaned, feeling unmoored and abandoned.

“How did you convince her you weren’t Pietro?” Tony couldn’t imagine it was easy to break through a delusion Wanda would have fought to maintain as the truth.

“I didn’t,” Peter says with a shrug. “I’m not sure she ever really thought I was. I think she just really, really wanted it to be true. She’s super lonely.”

It’s a feeling Tony can relate to. After his own parents’ death, he had spun out, feeling completely unconnected even though he still had a few people like Rhodey and Obediah, even though the latter ended up being a traitorous sleeper agent. It’s probably worse for Wanda who also lost her twin and lifelong companion through a series of misinformed decisions she likely considers her own bad choices.

Tony silently vows to keep an eye on her, make sure she receives all the help she needs.

“After she accepted that I wasn’t Pietro, it was just a matter of convincing her that you guys were safe and only wanted to help her,” Peter said. “I told her about how you did for me and how you help anybody who needs it. Eventually, she decided it was okay to come in and here we are.”

And here they are, indeed.

Tony musses Peter’s causing the kid to squawk in outrage.

“I’m proud of you, Bitsy.”

Peter blinks and then a blush steals across his cheeks. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

“It was a big deal. You did something not even the Avengers could do on first contact with Scarlet Witch. You kept your cool and de-escalated the situation. You’re going to be great at this one day, maybe even better than me.”

Peter makes objecting noises, either unwilling or unable to imagine such a thing.

“No, seriously,” Tony insists. “You have the same curiosity for invention that I do, you work well in a team and it didn’t take a near death experience or an alien invasion to get you there, and you have an unbending moral compass. Plus, you don’t have my temper.”

Peter doesn’t say anything but the smell of warm leather conveys how he feels about the praise.

“You’re going to change the world, bits. And I’m going to make sure you have everything you need to do it.”

* * *

**Epilogue**

Over time the Avengers, Junior Avengers, and Avenger adjacents have mixed results, complete with ebbs and flows. Tony and Bucky resolve to get along but periodically one or the other will step wrong, causing a flare in tensions that smooths out with time, effort, and the occasional apology. Eventually, Steve and Bucky move out. Not because of anything Tony did or didn’t do, but because they miss having a place of their own like they did back in the old days in Brooklyn. Of course, they aren’t allowed to live in a crumbling tenement with zero security on the bad side of town for the sake of nostalgia. Tony hooks them up with a real estate agent and financial planner and they eventually buy a three-story walkup that Tony retrofits with all the safety bells and whistles people of their fame and infamy would need. They do make certain to return to the compound once a month for the team dinner and game night.

Clint follows suit. They still haven’t found Nathaniel or Laura. He’ll never give up on his wife and youngest son and he still chases down any leads that come their way, but he has accepted that he needs to make life as normal for Cooper and Lila as possible and that doesn’t include growing up in a quasi-governmental compound. Clint can’t bring himself to sell the farm, holding out hope that if Laura is out there, she’ll make her way home someday, but he also can’t bear to live there surrounded by reminders of simpler, happier times. They compromise by having Tony kit the farm with live surveillance that will alert both Clint and Tony if someone so much as breathes in its general direction and Clint and the kids move into a four bedroom, two and a half bath home. Enough room for a family of five but not so large that it makes the current family of three feel out of sorts. Natasha bounces between the compound and the new Barton homestead, helping wherever she's needed.

Over time, the missing Avengers show up. They find Stephen Strange, or rather he finds them, and that was… harrowing. Scott shows up with a wild story about how he actually wasn’t caught in The Cull but rather some kind of subatomic quantum particle field. Quantum physics aren’t Tony’s specialty but he guesses it makes sense. With a lot of therapy, Wanda stabilizes and is able to accept the death of Pietro and Vision and is now working part time on a general studies degree online while she decides what she wants to do when she’s not avenging. Thor pops in and out, slowly adjusting to being one of the last of his once great people, showing more readiness to connect with the group he’s selected as a second family.

Tony is good to his word about helping Peter be all he can be minus the army. They eventually finish all their court appointed checkups with the courts fortunately none the wiser about the incident that shall never again be mentioned and they’re free to get back to making sure Peter is fully reintegrated and on track to become a productive citizen. Tony helps whenever and wherever he can, which is usually limited by how much Peter’s willing to allow. Tony suggests enrolling Peter into a prep school similar to the one he attended but without the boarding component. Peter refuses, saying he likes his public-school magnet program where he’s just a normal kid, not Tony Starks’ protegee. When Peter’s junior year rolls around, Tony’s just itching to get him early admissions to MIT or any engineering school of his choice.

“Seriously, Bits. Just say the word. Name the admissions board and I have friends on it. And if I don’t, I can buy a building or give an endowment or something.”

Peter’s not having it. “That’s really generous, but I want to finish out all four years with my class and I’d rather get into college under my own steam.”

Tony sighs, thwarted. “Fine, but you have to promise to use the prestigious inaugural Stark Young Leader of Tomorrow Internship on your CV. You worked hard to get that.”

Peter huffs in laughter and rolls his eyes. “Deal.”

He eventually gets admitted to Empire State University on a full ride scholarship, completely through his own efforts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I wrapped up all the loose ends, but if I forgot something you were waiting to have resolved, drop me a line.


End file.
